


Bucky and the Wolf

by EmSonderling, peachgalaxy



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: And some crack, Angst and Feels, BAMF Darcy Lewis, BAMF Jane Foster, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Boo Hydra, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Cameos, Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, Darcy Lewis is a Howling Commando Legacy, F/F, F/M, Howling Commandos - Freeform, Jane Foster is a Good Bro, Jewish Darcy Lewis, Kinda Dark, Lots of Nazis get punched, M/M, Mild Gore, Multi, Nicknames, Not cannon compliant after that, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Slow Burn, Werewolf!Darcy, author attempts to do the writing properly, gratuitous comic book easter eggs, like grimm fairy tales dark, mild world-building, paranatural (but cannon compliant elements), puns, tags to be updated
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-10-23 18:54:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17689019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmSonderling/pseuds/EmSonderling, https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachgalaxy/pseuds/peachgalaxy
Summary: Darcy didn't plan on getting stabbed by the Winter Soldier.But she was definitely going to hunt his assassiny ass all over the U.S. for payback. And, well, if she gets a chance to shred some Hydra agents in the meantime, even better.(Featuring Witch!Jane, Anxious Steve, and Too-Sober-For-This Tony)





	1. The Better to Smell You With

**Author's Note:**

> First published fic! Scary!
> 
> Peachgalaxy and I just started talking head cannons and didn't stop...  
> As seen in the tags, Darcy is a werewolf. We're going to expand on it in the fic itself, but for now:  
> -Only Jane knows Darcy's a werewolf (of the people in the tower)  
> -The gene is inherited (but sometimes skips a few generations)  
> -Mandatory transformation around the full moon is a thing, but partial transformation can happen at will; senses are enhanced slightly beyond that of normal mortals  
> -Darcy is in full control of her wolf-self at all times
> 
> Thanks to peachgalaxy for being an awesome collaborator and SavingPrivateMe for the beta read!
> 
> Constructive criticism welcome, hope you enjoy it!

**\----2014-----**

**-One Week After the Fall of SHIELD-**

Usually, Darcy ignored her Puppy Senses while working in the lab. It was a necessary precaution, as Darcy’s non-canine-forebrain was what ensured she didn’t get blown up on a regular basis. Puppy Senses (as nicknamed by Jane), on the other hand, would have her sniffing and pawing at every new doohickey the Scientists Three decided to build.  
(JARVIS had calculated that the current rate of lab explosions occurring after new equipment was built to be around 38%.)

So. Forebrain for the win.

_Except_ . Except she could smell something like gunpowder and leather and salty musk, wafting tantalizingly from a shiny new box on Tony’s desk. It was making her... _hungry_?

“Gah,” Dary grumbled to herself, glancing at the calendar tacked to the lab door. _Bad Puppy Senses. It’s still sixteen days till the full moon. Waaaaaay too early to want to bite random things._

Giving the new (hunger-inducing) box a wide berth, Darcy set about collecting the various dishes the Scientists Three had left lying around after their all-night bender. Darcy had herded Jane, Bruce, and Tony out of the lab at 4 A.M. with a squirt gun, as per High Lady Pepper Potts’ decree about late night Science! Though she and Jane had been living in the Tower for close to a year, and Darcy was no longer a professional intern, Pepper still liked her to try and to keep the explosion rate beneath a 50% level. Darcy didn’t mind. Someone had to make sure Tony was fed and watered regularly.

“JARVIS? You still have the lab on lock-down protocol, right?” Darcy asked the A.I., once she’d collected all the random dishware she could find.

“Yes, Miss Lewis. The laboratory will remain closed for the next 24 hours to anyone in possession of a science degree. That is, with the exception of political science.”

Darcy blew a kiss at the ceiling. “Thanks, J! I’m just gonna return these to the common kitchen.”

“Of course, Miss Lewis.”

The Tower was unusually quiet for noon on a Monday morning. But then, everything had been uncomfortably quiet since the fall of SHIELD. Darcy had been distracting herself with work—everything from random, menial tasks to actual PR projects for Pepper—for the last three days, ever since she and Jane had managed to pull themselves from their mildly-traumatized funk. She hoped the Scientists Three pulling an all-nighter meant things might be slowly moving back to normal.

Currently, washing dishes seemed a particularly effective distractor. Especially since Bruce had apparently decided to use his Hulk-themed plate as an accidental mold petri dish. _Ugh_.

Darcy was fully engrossed in trying to remove said mold, without actually touching it, up to her elbows in soap suds… until that strange smell caught her attention again—only this time, it was laced with blood.

The plate in Darcy’s hands clinked dangerously. Her grip tightened, nails scraping against the ceramic. Every sense sharpened as her attention snapped into high gear.

“JARVIS? Who’s bleeding?”

“I’m unsure, Miss Lewis. Perhaps…” JARVIS’ voice fizzled ominously.

Darcy was thrown back to last week, the last time JARVIS had gone unexpectedly offline.

_Heat dribbling down her chin. Ryan—the nervous intern who always hid from Jane but got her favorite cappuccino perfect—lying on the ground, eyes wide and staring. Jane screaming. The popping screech of gunfire._

She shuddered, shook herself back to the present. If it was more SHIELDRA moles... well. She knew how to take care of them.

Carefully, Darcy set the dishes on the ground, pulled her hair back into a ponytail, and took in a sharp breath.

The stronger, warm-blood smell wafted from the door to an emergency staircase, just past the elevators.

“Miss Lewis, someone appears to have disabled the cameras on the Common Room and Ground Level Floors,” JARVIS crackled back to life. “I would proceed with caution.”

“Thanks, J.” Darcy whispered. “Please keep the Scientists’ Three in their rooms, if you can.”

_Okay, Puppy Senses. It’s go time._

As quietly as possible, Darcy slunk to the staircase door. She pressed an ear to the smooth metal panel. Though faint, she could still hear a gentle pattern of footfalls. And the smell—now it wasn’t just musk and powder, but something like witch hazel lingered faintly underneath.

Darcy bit back a growl. She held stone-still as the footsteps drew closer. Then stopped. Then turned into a disturbingly quiet sprint.

_They’re heading upstairs. Storage floor or...labs._ Darcy rattled off a litany of mental curses as she backed away from the door.

“JARVIS,” she hissed, edging towards the elevator. “Can you still work this thing? Emergency speed?”

The elevator doors slid open soundlessly, barely closing before the tube shot up to the labs. Darcy stumbled out, ears pricked for any sound. Nothing.

Then a fist swung for her head.

Not for the first time, Darcy thanked her two lucky stars for superior reflexes and below-average height.

She ducked. Glass shattered behind her as she rolled away, coming up into a hard crouch. Darcy barely had time to recover before dodging a vicious kick to the ribs. Something whizzed past her ear, flashing silver as it went.

At the glint of metal, Darcy stopped thinking.

There was nothing more than a blink of blue eyes before she dove and slashed. Talons tore through flesh. A grunt of pain—deep, sharp, surprised—was the only warning she had before another slash of metal arced for her heart.

She was already gone.

Darcy’s lips pulled back into a snarl as she whirled to face her attacker. Her chest heaved with exertion. Blood oozed, wet and warm, from her fingertips. She never took her eyes off the hulking man in front of her.

_Who was this asshole? Coming into her home? Threatening her people?_

He was a predator, too. Darcy would have known it from the way he’d struck first— like something hungry to _kill_ —even if he hadn’t risen to his full height at her obvious challenge. Darcy tracked his movements. There was slight favoritism for his right leg, the one she hadn’t slashed. One hand still held a short knife.

He stared right back, unblinking.

If Darcy were more human in that particular moment, she might have called him handsome (and strangely familiar): blue eyes, thick dark hair, an attractive (albeit gaunt) face. The wolf, however, focused on what was important. Wet dripping from a gash in his chest, darkening the fabric of an already red hoodie. The ripple of bulky musculature under his baggy clothes, poised to spring. His disconcertingly steady breathing. The subtle shift in his weight. The knife.

And his silver hand, clicking and whirring like living metal.

_Like a living weapon_.

It made her hackles raise, canines bared instinctively. She would have flattened her ears if she could.

He was fast. She was faster—but maybe not more so than the hand. _Neutralize the threat,_ her body screamed. Then she caught his eyes again.

“What do you want?” She managed to snarl. He was human. She could be human, right now. If only to find out why a such a lethal predator looked so absolutely terrified.

The man slipped his flesh hand up to press against the gash, breathing still loud in her sensitive ears.

“Not HYDRA?” The words were more exhale than speech.

She blinked. “Hell no.”

He blinked back.

“...box.”

“What?” Human Darcy would have worried about his wound, but said human had also been completely unprepared for SHIELDRA a week ago. _Is_ he _HYDRA?_

He tried to gesture with the knife, making Darcy growl. The man took a cautious step back. Licked dry lips. “The box. It has a bomb.”

Darcy reeled. “Say that again.”

This time, it was the man’s turn to growl. “No time. Box has a bomb. Get out of my way or we all die.”

_Shit_. She was listening for his heartbeat, trying to catch a lie. It didn’t even stutter. _Even if that was melodramatic as hell._

Seeming not to care for her silence, the man stalked forward into the lab, knife raised threateningly. She hissed as he backed her into Tony’s table until the unassuming metal box clanked when her elbow knocks against it.

They both froze, eyes flicking to the box with bated breath. Nothing happens.

“How did it get here?” Darcy allowed her gaze to flick around the lab tables. All the robots were offline, as per lockdown protocols. There was a handy wrench she could maybe lob at his head, but would it work? Was neutralizing Robo-Cop still priority #1, or was it the hypothetical bomb? “Never mind. How do I get rid of it? When’s it set to explode?”

“ _You_ can’t. And soon.”

“Wow, that’s helpful. Why do _you_ want to stop it?”

Again, that vague, terrified blink. “He’d hate me. The man on the bridge. It would be my fault.”

_What._

Darcy’s lupine self began to recede, replaced by panic. There might or might not be a bomb behind her, there’s certainly a nonsense-spouting cyborg in front of her, and she’s basically alone...wait. _Focus, Darce._

“JARVIS,” she called out, and the man jumped. “Can you scan for an explosive in the package on Tony’s desk?”

A few tense seconds pass before JARVIS answered. “There are several mechanical devices in the box, Miss Lewis. While I am unable to analyze the content of at least one object, there does appear to be a potentially volatile chemical compound in a muzzle-like item.” The man visibly twitches at the word “muzzle.”

“Kriffing Bilgesnipe,” Darcy muttered, mixing her geeky references, but, well. The Borg probably wasn’t Hydra. She hoped.

She pointed at him, letting her sharp canines flash for emphasis. “Can you defuse it?”

“...yes.” Somehow, he looked even more (threateningly) panicked than before.

“Okay. Okay, I’m going to pick that up over there,” Darcy gestured to a spare taser from Tony, lying on a nearby lab bench. “And you’re going to put down the knife. You’re gonna walk— _slowly_ —to the box and defuse the bomb. If you can do that, we’ll have a look at your injury, yeah?”

Carefully, the man nodded. Darcy crept to the taser, then gestured the now knifeless man towards the box. He walked carefully enough to Tony’s desk, while still keeping an eye on the weapon pointed steadily in his direction. He then proceeded to rip the box open with his bare hands.

Darcy started, but when he raised a challenging eyebrow, she shook herself and gestured for him to continue.

The second she looked away from her, Darcy mouthed, “JARVIS, please activate protocol Clue Spoilers,” at the tiny camera installed in her taser. Hopefully, JARVIS would be able to connect to the speakers in Jane’s room.

The next twenty minutes passed in complete silence as he steadily took apart the mask’s internal mechanics and Darcy watched anxiously.

“How’d you know?” The murmur startled Darcy. She looked up sharply, but the man’s gaze hadn’t strayed from his work. “That I was here?”

Darcy debated refusing to answer. There was the small issue of his holding a live bomb, though. “I could smell you.”

_Nice one. Just try to match that level of enigmatic creepy, Metal Murder Dude._

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Smelled me.”

“Yeah, you might want to consider a shower.” _Sassing the Terminator is always a good idea. Gold star, me._

The man snorted, dropping the pieces of the disassembled mask back in the box before lifting his face to hers.

Darcy let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. With deliberate care, she set down the taser and raised her empty palms. “Ok. Potential explosion averted. Let’s have a look at that nice puncture wound in your chest, yeah?”

He said nothing, but let her approach. Now that her mind wasn’t preoccupied with fight or flight (or explode), she had a chance to examine him properly.

_Are those muscles real? Definitely a looker. A...weirdly familiar hot Part-Terminator Assassin Hobo looker. Who smells._

The blood-gun-oil-witch-hazel scent was practically overwhelming with only a foot of space between them. Darcy had to repress the bizarre urge to pant as if the smell were a kind of pavlovian stimulus. _Ew, get it together, Darce. No salivating over guys who just tried to kill you._

To distract herself, she reached for the gash in his side. Some of the blood wasn’t his (as far as she could smell, anyway). Which begged the question—

Darcy was shaken from her internal monologue by a metal hand closing around her wrist. She looked up sharply, about to ask what was wrong.

Something in his face was different, distant. “I’m sorry.”

Before Darcy could react, pain exploded in her side. A knife. He had another—

His eyes were ice-cold, sharp enough to cut, with no hint of the panic from before.

_That definitely hit something important._

She clawed at his wrist, nails scraping uselessly at the metal plates. He yanked the blade out just as casually as he’d pushed it into her. Without his support, she dropped to the floor.

A gasp burnt her throat. A cold hand slipped over her mouth and nose, blocking all her air flow.

_Fu_ —

 

It’s the Puppy Senses that save her.

_Darcy’s Hindbrain Guide to Survival:_

  * _Fight_


  * _Posture_


  * _Fight_


  * _Flight_


  * _Play dead, hope they leave. Fight more later._



With items 1-4 attempted and either failed or impossible, Darcy instinctually fell into option 5. Which was quite easy, considering the fact that a super-soldier had just stabbed and suffocated her.

When she wakes up, it’s to a red-faced Jane Foster, and a room filled with beeping machines.

“Good Puppy,” She tells herself, before promptly passing out again.


	2. Hungry Like The

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve Rogers has had enough surprises and people almost-not-really-dying to last him a lifetime. Too bad the universe doesn’t seem to care how Steve feels about any of the above.  
> In other news, Bucky is on the run; a wolf awkwardly encounters a bird and gets shouted at a lot by an overprotective astrophysicist.  
> Warning: bad puns below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EmSonderling and I are back with the next chapter! The response to the first chapter was amazing and we're glad people have been enjoying 'Bucky and the Wolf' so far! Much more to come!

The Asset was lost. Not literally. He was sitting on a bench in Fort Greene Park, downtown Brooklyn. It was a whisper in the very back of his subconscious that made him feel unmoored and uncertain. It had pulled him to this part of the city. The Asset supposed the whisper might have been Bucky Barnes, once. _He_ was reeling at Brooklyn, a place at once familiar and completely changed. Shivers of memory slithered down the Asset’s mind; a fist thrown in an alleyway, red lips and dark curls, music and swirling skirts, cold stone and a warm hand in his own. The Asset shudders at this brush of life _before_. The pain came from remembering.

He winced, reminding himself that he wouldn’t be wiped. Not anymore. An answering twinge of pain in his chest, from the rapidly healing wound, reminds him of the fight in Stark’s tower.

_And...that girl._

The whisper rallies into a shout. Bucky Barnes knew a plethora of curses, in several languages. The swearing became pleas; begging the Asset to return to the tower to see if she was alright. Reminding him he wasn’t always the killer he’d become.

“Shut up.” The Asset growls, snapping to his feet. The Asset reminded Bucky Barnes that he stayed silent when their knife sunk between the girl’s ribs, said nothing as her breathing came to a halt. Bucky Barnes fades again.

The Asset started moving faster, ignoring other people on the sidewalk. Tourists in gaudy t-shirts swore at him as he pushed his way through a guided tour. None were any real threat. He still needed to get out.

_Too many people._

The whisper was back in full force again, much harder to suppress since the crucial threat of electricity and a metal chair were no longer a danger. Now, the Asset needed only to concern himself with the agonizing recollections of a man he once thought dead.

The Asset wasn’t sure which sort of pain he preferred.

A certain smell would trigger nostalgia, a certain noise pull him into the past. Bucky Barnes held onto the memories with all the feeble strength he could muster.

But really, the Asset was in full control.

_The tower was a moment of weakness. You let that threat get a good shot at you._ The Soldier’s scathing comments drown out the whisper. Both were buzzing like incessant hornets in his mind. He wanted both of them gone. Neither of them was him anymore. He wasn’t sure who he was now.

_You’re nothing without me._

Pierce’s final words to him before D.C. leave a sour taste in his mouth. The Asset stopped walking, placing his flesh hand against the rough brick of a brownstone wall. He takes a few slow breaths to center himself. The buzzing of the two other people occupying his mind quiet finally.

_Some peace._

“Are you here to see Captain America’s house, too?”

The Asset wrenched his head up, startling the little dark-haired girl standing a few feet from him.

“What?”

The little girl smiled, skipping closer to him. The plates in the metal arm whirr as they contract subconsciously. The Asset looked her up and down, assessing her threat level.

_Subject perceived as non-threatening._

“The Captain America Living History Exhibit!” She sounded like she was reciting a script, making sure to get every word right. “The Smithon-Smithoanian….The _Smithsonian_ put it here ages ago.”

The Asset pushed off from the wall and looked up at the building. A sharp twang of familiarity brings Barnes to the forefront of his mind.

“Stevie’s old haunt became a fancy exhibit?”

The girl copied him, looking up at the building, as well. It stood out like a sore thumb. It was a small brick structure surrounded by glass and metal skyscrapers. A thumbprint of the past in a sea of modernity.

“Yeah, _Steve Rogers_. Captain America. Didn’t you learn about him in school?”

The Asset (or was this still Bucky Barnes?) looked back to the little girl. The spring breeze ruffles her curly pigtails and her smile exposed two missing front teeth.

“The man on the bridge. He lived here. I knew him.”

Before the girl can reply, a woman from further down the sidewalk called out.

“Anna! Anna!”

Footsteps pounding on the pavement drew the Asset’s attention, assessing the woman’s threat. He took in her appearance and traits.

_Resembles the child. Not an immediate threat._

“What have I told you about running off!” The woman grabbed the little girl into her embrace, giving the Asset a cold look before herding Anna back to a tour group further down the sidewalk. Their guide was waving around a little pennant with ‘SMITHSONIAN’ embroidered on it. He assesses the tourists before moving into the shaded alleyway between two buildings.

And he waited. 

\----------

Steve was feeling pretty damn twitchy, and that was _before_ Tony told him the bad news.

He’d spent almost 52 hours in a coma after the Triskelion fell, and another three days after that confined to a hospital bed. Waking up to Sam, Marvin Gaye, and the perfect one-liner had been about the extent of positives in Steve’s recent life.

He should be lucky, he supposed, that he hadn’t woken up in the year 2084 or something. “Lucky” didn’t make the slow healing of his ribs, sternum, and splintered leg any less torturous. “Lucky” wasn’t how he felt when he tried to get some sleep in between painful spurts of healing, only to see every detail of Bucky’s agonized face imprinted on the insides of his eyelids.

The hospital staff wouldn’t even let Steve feed himself for the first two days. _That_ reminded him of the worst fits of pneumonia in the 20s and 30s, when his life had been hung somewhere between fate’s whim and Bucky’s ironclad desire to see him live. Steve couldn’t hate Bucky for taking care of him, the same way he couldn’t hate the nurses for doing their jobs.

But he could hate the dependency that came with it.

By the time the hospital had cleared Steve for extraction to the Tower, he was in desperate need of good news. Maybe Stark would have found something in the box.

(Natasha had managed to track down anything the Winter Soldier had significant contact with, in the hopes that Tony could find some fingerprints or DNA to pinpoint his movements or any other helpful details. She’d shipped the box to Stark just a few days ago, but there had been no word from the Tower beyond confirmation of delivery. )

Still, Steve was itching to get out of his cast and the hospital gown and do...something. Anything. After the revelation of Bucky, Fury, and HYDRA, Steve was feeling pretty confident that life couldn’t throw him many more curveballs. Nothing he couldn’t handle, anyway.

Ah, cosmic irony.

“Um...What?” Sam had only met Tony Stark five minutes ago, but he seemed about ready to strangle the billionaire. Steve could understand the sentiment.

Except Tony looked more exhausted than Steve had ever seen him. There were new lines around his mouth, his beard was disheveled, and his hair was rumpled, as though Tony had been tearing at it. It was as if he’d aged fifteen years in the last month. In the last few days, really.

“You heard me.” Stark knocked back the last of his bourbon. “You think SHIELD HQ was the only place with Hydra moles? So yeah, death insurance in the Tower took a hike. I never wanna see another intern ever again. And you get Lewis as an almost-dead roommate and new On-Life-Support-Bff, courtesy of your Murder-Bot-From-The-40s-Bff.”

“Bucky was—” Steve wondered if he maybe should have been a little less hard on the hospital staff. He seemed to be having some processing trouble.

“Christ, Rogers, keep up,” Tony said, blinking bleary bloodshot eyes. “Your Manchurian Candidate hacked the Tower feeds, ninja-d his way into the lab, disappeared the goody box, and decided to redecorate. Apparently, the cleaning bill from last week’s massacre didn’t stain the carpets red enough for him. Hey, Cap does your friend have a thing for bleeding out defenseless women or is it just a general knife fet—”

“Hey, man.” Sam interrupted, stepping around Steve’s wheelchair. His hands were raised placatively, but he cast a wary glance back at Steve ( _keep your mouth shut, Rogers)_ , before addressing Tony. “It’s been hell for everybody. Is it more important to get in a couple barbs or keep rebuilding? You said the girl’s still alive?”

“Barely,” Tony grumbled but deflated slightly. “Dr. Foster did…” he trailed off, blinking at nothing, then shook himself. “Sir Stabs-a-lot did take out another Hydra guy down in the lobby, though. We must have missed him last week. So Tower’s off-limits to anyone not of proven loyalty.”

“And what are we counting as a test of loyalty, Tony?” Steve said testily. “Pretty sure none of us have a great track record with being able to tell the difference between the honest and the betrayers.”

“I’d say it usually isn’t the people who try to stick you with pointy things,” One hand drifted almost absentmindedly to the billionaire’s sternum. Tony cleared his throat, turning away from them. Silence filled the space between the three men.

Abruptly, Stark laughed. “Damn, I’m still too sober for this. C’mon, Capsicle and Capsicle’s Literal Wingman. Let’s head to the new quarters.”

_Bucky had been in the Tower. Bucky had nearly killed an innocent. He’d taken the box and disappeared. Again._

Not for the first time in the last month, Steve really wished he could get drunk.

Sam let out a low whistle as they followed Tony down to the Tower’s medical wing.

“Man, you shoulda told me what I was getting myself into.”

“Sorry,” Steve whispered back. “It’s not too late for—”

“Rogers, if you tell me I can still back out, I will black your good eye.” Sam snorted. “I meant the fact that everyone you associate with has a book of witty retorts stuffed in their back pocket. Watching you banter is like watching Olympic ping-pong.”

“That’s a thing?” Steve asked.

It earned him a dry chuckle. “Yes, Cap. Somehow, though, ultimate frisbee _isn’t_ an Olympic sport. Which sucks, because I bet your shield would be a star player.”

Steve laughed, then winced when his ribs protested. “Thanks, Sam.”

He knew that Tony was in a rough place. They all were, but, of course, Steve’s first instinct had been to take the other Avenger’s bait. Sam had stepped right in the middle of that turf war and defused it.

“You can repay me with breakfast. And some autographs. My nephew’s a big fan.”

Steve had to bite down on his lip to keep from laughing again.

But now they were on the medical floor. Steve sobered at the harsh chemical scent of the place, an uncomfortable return to the hospital scene he'd just escaped.

“Behold,” Tony swept a sardonic hand at a glass panel, which slid open to reveal a spartan bedroom. “Your chambers, O’Captain my Captain. Darcy’s next door, let’s go say hi.”

Tony spun about, and Steve could just _tell_ he was going to lob another barb, when—

“IF YOU MAKE ONE MORE JOKE ABOUT BEING IMPALED, I SWEAR TO FRIGGA, HECATE, AND EVERY POWER IN EXISTENCE, I’LL—”

Sam winced. “If that’s Lewis, she sounds just fine.”

Steve blinked through the adjacent window.

“Tony,” he started carefully. “Why is Dr. Foster throwing salt on Miss Lewis?”

In the next room, Darcy Lewis was hooked up to enough machines that Steve wanted to fall back into a sympathy coma. She looked like death warmed over.

The severity of the situation was somewhat undermined by one beet-red Jane Foster, who had now paused in her aggressive salt-tossing to furiously chop at a number of leafy plants on a cutting board beside the bed. She never stopped shouting, growing progressively more flushed by the second.

Stark peeked through the glass. He sighed. “I’d tell you. I’d _love_ to tell you, but then I’d have to kill me.”

“What,” Sam said again.

Though completely perplexed, Steve couldn’t help the wry glance he cast at Sam. “Shoulda read the fine print. We have all sorts of crazy in the Avengers.”

“I can see that”, Sam started warily, then blinked at the envelope Tony thrust under his nose. “Uh, that for me?”

“You bet your flying ass it is.” Tony gestured for him to take the envelope. “We’re kind of a mess, right now. Need a couple of sane people on board.”

Sam’s eyes widened as he unfolded the first paper. Steve couldn’t see much, though there was a number printed at the bottom. One with quite a few zeroes.

“I appreciate the offer, but I can’t—”

“Read Pep’s letter,” Tony commanded. “I’m not the one bargaining here.”

Sam shot him a suspicious glance but complied. Steve watched as his friend’s eyebrows rose progressively higher as his gaze traveled down the paper.

After scanning the letter once more, Sam nodded firmly, then folded the envelope. “I’m in.”

Tony looked visibly relieved. “Awesome. Now, Wilson, there’s a room with your name on it (well actually it’s keyed to your fingerprint but same diff) upstairs. If you just mosey on up, I can get Cap settled?”

Sam glanced at Steve. Y _ou good?_

Steve nodded. He made a mock noise of protest as Sam slapped his shoulder. "Don't break anything new while I'm gone, Cap."

_Don't do anything stupid until I get back._ He’d almost forgotten just how much he missed just having friends.

There was another indignant squawk from Foster as the elevator doors closed behind Sam. She was now throwing the shredded plants on Darcy as well.

“So,” Steve started, watching his fellow Avenger carefully. “Care to fill me in?”

Tony let out another long-suffering sigh. “Let’s...just say hi to the girls. I need another drink.”

\-----

_Really,_ Steve begged the universe, roughly half an hour later, _could you not just make things easy, for once?_

He’d watched Dr. Foster mutter and toss random objects over Miss Lewis for just long enough to start questioning his own sanity. Eventually, Tony had escorted the Doctor out, again making vague allusions to some sort of secret he couldn’t directly speak of which apparently excused Foster’s ludicrous behavior. Jane hadn’t so much as glanced in his direction.

Steve was more than ready to sleep off the strangeness of the day. But he hadn’t wanted to leave a halfway conscious Miss Lewis alone, especially when a small pit of guilt had settled in his stomach at the thought of Bucky hurting her so badly.

They didn’t know each other well. Steve had been in and out of the Tower over the last year, and hadn’t had much time to do more than introduce himself to Dr. Foster and Lewis; before that, as Natasha so charmingly put it, he’d been “a broody icon of American isolationism.”

Steve had always had the impression that Darcy Lewis was both clever and mischievous, but didn’t want much to do with him. She would probably be even more uninterested now that his best friend had nearly killed her.

Steve glanced again at Darcy’s bloodless face and sighed. He dropped his head into his hands, wishing he could smooth the frustration away. _Bucky…please be okay._

“Caaaap?”

Darcy was awake, blinking dazedly at him.

Steve opened his mouth, maybe to apologize, maybe to ask if she was alright. Nothing came out. _Seventy years later, still can’t even talk to a pretty dame at her bedside,_ a voice at the back of his mind whispered. He silenced it. It sounded too much like Bucky.

Unexpectedly, Darcy giggled; a wheezing, barely-there titter that made Steve want to yell for a doctor. “Y’know...my grandpas used to tell me war stories about youuuuu…” she slurred.

“Miss Lewis, you should be resting—” Steve paused, absorbing her words. “Grandpas?”

“Yep, yep.” Darcy tried to scratch at the IV tube inserted in her arm. Steve caught her hand absentmindedly, raising his non-injured eyebrow when she let out a pained whine. Darcy stopped struggling when he pressed her hand back to the mattress. Instead, she started sniffing the air suspiciously.

“You smell like...the guy who impaled me. In a very non-sexual context,” she snickered. She sounded drunk.

_Must be the meds,_ Steve decided, snorting at her joke despite himself. He really should call a doctor. “What do you remember about that guy, Miss Lewis?” He regretted the words almost as soon as they were out. But... if she knew something. He’d call a doctor as soon as she answered, just…

Darcy patted his arm. Well, pawed at him, really. “Jus’ Darcy, Cap. And don’ worry, I’ll bite him next time. Sneaky, pretty assassin. My grandpas would be proud though. I didn’t get murdered.”

“Yeah, um, Darcy. We’re all pretty proud of you,” Steve tried. _Bite Bucky? What does that mean?_

“‘S a good thing I met Jane,” Darcy yawned. “They wanted me to be like Grandpa Jacques, a cool army vet. But naaaaaah I liked being an intern for Jaaaneeeeeyyy....my beeeest frieeeend. And she can do the magic. The healing magic. Verrrrry important.”

She slapped his arm again.

Steve just stared at her. “Jacques...hey, wait. You can’t mean Jacques Dernier? Darcy?”

_Jacques Dernier._ A maroon beret, immaculate mustache, and set of perpetually unimpressed eyebrows flashed in Steve’s mind’s eye.

He’d tried to look up the Howlies, almost as soon as he’d gotten out of the ice. Better to rip off the bandages, hurt himself as much as possible, he’d reasoned. Better to numb himself with grief then be in pain all the time. But some of the former Commandos who’d joined SHIELD had classified files, ones he hadn’t even been able to access after two years working for them.

Darcy might be Derniers’ granddaughter, and he would never have known before she died.

_More secrets. More lies. More innocent people caught in Hydra’s mess._

“Captain Rogers, I have informed Doctor Foster and Sir of Miss Lewis’ semi-lucid state. They will be arriving shortly.”

“Right. Thanks, JARVIS.” Steve sighed, then gently removed Darcy’s hand from his forearm.

_Unbidden, he remembered the Howlies’ second mission in Italy. He’d had to pull Gabe Jones and Jacques Dernier out of a trench. Instead of letting go, Dernier had very deliberately felt up Steve’s bicep, giving him a suggestive wink and making a comment in French that had Gabe doubled over with laughter. It was the first time he’d seen Bucky crack a real smile since Azzano._

Maybe Tony could find him a light-duty punching bag. He really wanted to hit something.

  
\-----

When Darcy woke up for real, it was midnight. Or, if the beside clock was accurate, it might have been 11:56 in the morning.

_Werewolf Stereotype #1: Totally in tune with the nighttime._

_Werewolf Fun-Fact #1: Wolves can tell how close the lunar cycle is to causing a full transformation, but otherwise? Clocks exist for a reason. Night-vision is a thing, though._

Darcy groaned as she heaved herself up into a sitting position. There were salt and a few leaves of something sharp-scented on her nose, which made her sneeze before she could flail an arm up to brush them aside. Her arm twinged with a few recently-healed puncture wounds; Darcy glanced down at the bed to see a couple of unhooked tubes leaking onto her bed. _Must have popped out when my skin healed over._ More salt scratched at her fingers as she pushed the tubes aside.

_Werewolf Fun-Fact #2:_ _Enhanced healing is a thing, but it goes even faster when your best friend is a witch and nice enough to cast wards around you._

Darcy smiled at the healing charm Jane had wound around her wrist like a colorful bracelet. Then her stomach growled loud enough to make her start.

_Werewolf Fun-Fact #3: Full transformation takes a heck ton of energy. So does the healing. Which makes for hungry doggos who need to consume many calories._

Darcy winced as her Puppy Senses indicated that it was time to feed the beast. She must have been out for a while because the wolf felt much closer to the surface than the last time she was awake.

_When Mr. Blue Steel decided to acquaint me with his pokey bits. The deadly kind._ The memory made goosebumps break out over her skin, and she growled at the empty room.

Her stomach growled right back.

_Food first. Plot revenge later._

“JARVIS?” Darcy warbled at the ceiling, wincing at how cracked and dry her voice sounded.

“Miss Lewis,” came the soft, crisp reply. Though, Darcy thought she detected something, not unlike relief in the AI’s voice. “Your vitals all appear to be stable. You should be able to move around with only mild discomfort. Should I notify Doctor Foster of your current whereabouts?”

“No thanks, J.” Darcy ran a dry tongue over her lips. “Hungry.”

“Of course. There is food in the common fridge, including your preferred… dishes.”

Darcy flashed the ceiling a wobbly thumbs-up.

Fifteen minutes of hobbling and scavenging later, Darcy was bulldozing her way through a plate of raw hamburger meat. Typically, Darcy preferred her meat at least slightly more sophisticated in presentation, but beggars (and hungry werewolves) couldn’t be choosy. She _had_ found a large bottle of unopened barbeque sauce, though, and was applying it liberally.

It made her feel a hell of a lot better.

Jane had been disgusted, the first time she’d seen Darcy chow down before a full moon. The astrophysicists’ opinion had changed significantly once Thor and his own raging appetite came into their lives.

Darcy smiled at the memory. Good times, out in New Mexico. She’d been able to run wild under the open sky at night. Except for the time she brought Jane along with her, it felt as if she had the whole moonlit desert to herself.

There _had_ been that one awkward encounter with a few native New Mexican werewolves, but luckily they were progressive enough not to mind a lone outsider vacationing in their territory. And there had been plenty of live prey for everyone.

Darcy polished off the plate of meat quickly, chucking the remnants into the trash can and putting the barbecue sauce back in the fridge. She’d been wiping off the blood around her mouth when she heard footsteps in the hall. Not really good at thinking on her feet without her Puppy Senses, Darcy hurriedly flung the bloody paper towels into the trash can before leaning nonchalantly, elbow on the counter, swearing softly when her stab wound twinged. Hopefully, Darcy looked calm, cool and collected, not like a dog who’d just been scolded.

The footsteps belonged to a tall, handsome, African-American guy Darcy’d never seen before. He wandered over to the light switch, flipping it on absentmindedly (completely missing the invalid leaned up against the counter).

“Oh, hey I didn’t see you there.” Darcy coughed awkwardly before waving a little.

The man jumped. He snapped a wide-eyed look in her direction, one hand slapping against the fridge for support. “JESUS.”

“Sorry!” Darcy winced and shifted to take pressure off her wounded side. “Didn't mean to scare you, I just didn't expect anyone else to be awake. Guess I’m not the only person who gets midnight cravings, huh?”

The man closed his eyes, holding up one finger for quiet. “Just...give me a sec.” Darcy paused while the man collected himself. Finally, he opened a pair of warm, albeit perceptive, brown eyes. “...you’re Lewis, right? The girl from medical?”

“Guilty as charged. And for the record, you can call me Darcy.”

She wasn’t too sure the man would be down for a handshake so she just offered another one of those dorky waves she’d perfected. She caught a faint whiff of his scent. The man smelled like a cafe, all warmth and hot teas, and coffees. There was even a hint of something Darcy associated with the fresh night air. She wondered where that smell came from.

“Alright. Darcy. I’m Sam.” He gave her a faint sort of smile. “You feeling okay? Actually, are you even supposed to be up?”

“Probably not but I was _starving_. And there is only so much bed rest I can tolerate. Cabin fever, if you will. JARVIS told me how to get here.”

“Uh-huh.” ‘I’m Sam’ gave her another searching look. “Kinda reminds me of someone else. Never met so many people so rest-averse before I fell in with you Avengers.”

“Nah, you’ve got it wrong. I’m not an Avenger. Just an assistant who always ends up in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Darcy laughed, then swore when her side twinged. She pressed a hand to her wound— _damn_ , _still not fully healed?_ Jane's voice suddenly rang in her head, clear as day and In All Caps. 

_GET BACK IN BED OR I’LL USE YOUR FUR AS A RUG._

“Hey, you good?” Sam stepped forward, clearly misinterpreting her wince. His eye caught the streak of red Darcy’s hand had accidentally left on the counter. Sam frowned and swiped a finger through the mix of sauce and blood.

“Man, I always make a mess.” Darcy was quick to grab a nearby tea towel, handing it to Sam.

_Please don’t sniff it. Please don’t taste it._

Sam rubbed his fingers together thoughtfully. But he accepted the proffered towel. “You lost a lot of blood, they said. I’ve seen stab wounds like that before. Normally people aren’t up and about just a few days later.” His glance flicked meaningfully down to her exposed forearm, where the puncture scars were already fading.

“Maybe the Murder Bot didn’t mean to actually kill me. He was a weird guy. Really twitchy and unfocused.”

_Doesn’t mean I’m not gonna get his ass back, though._

“Huh.” Sam was hard to read. “Y’know, Dr. Foster was throwing some pretty weird stuff at you while you were out. I bet she’d be glad to hear you’re up.”

Jane chose that precise moment to give her another telepathic shoutout. _DARCY YOU BETTER BE HEADING BACK. IT’S TOO EARLY FOR THIS NONSENSE. I KNOW YOU BROKE THROUGH MY WARDING ON THE BED, YOU DUMMY. I WILL FIND YOU AND MURDER YOU AGAIN_.

“Oh, was she? Don’t remember much. Are you sure she wasn’t just nervously throwing blankets on me?” Apparently, Sam was good at picking up on things. 

Sam shrugged. He finally turned to open the fridge, rummaging around before pulling out a bottle of mineral water. Darcy almost thought he was going to let her go when he spoke again.

“Does Cap know who you are?”

That caught Darcy off-guard.

“Huh? I mean, we’ve been introduced. He visited me in the med ward, I think. I was pretty out of it. We talked about...something.”

Sam sipped his water. “He thinks you might be the grandkid of one of his old war buddies.” He shrugged. “I don’t know any of you all that well, Darcy, but I’m gonna guess there’s more happening than just that. And I think Cap—and everybody else—deserve a little more honesty.”

Darcy tilted her head and gave Sam a thoughtful look.

“Nah, it’s alright. Tony had me and Jane sign a lot of NDAs before being hired. Was never a fan of those, but some things don’t need to be common knowledge.”

Sam chuckled. “Again, didn’t mean to step on any toes. Just think about it. You need me to walk you down to your room?”

“I wouldn’t say no to the offer.” Darcy smiled. Keeping her hand pressed to her wound (she definitely needed more of those good drugs) she moved to leave the kitchen, Sam at her elbow.

She could plan her revenge on the Cyborg Reject later. Maybe it _was_ time to come clean to the Tower.

_ARE YOU HEADING BACK? DARCY. DARCY ANSWER ME. DARCY I_ _WILL_ _HEX YOU._

Darcy sighed. But first, she would have to convince Jane. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and supporting!


	3. Crying W~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a truly shocking turn of events, the Winter Soldier and Bucky Barnes discover that they still have some issues to work out.
> 
> Jane and Darcy have a Talk, complete with relevant backstory flashbacks, and an appearance by the great Virginia Pepper Potts. (Also other cameos, but we’ll let those be a surprise.) Relationships get fleshed out, world-building happens, some OCs get introduced.  
> Angsty angsty revelations at the end, ye have been forewarned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (It’s a really long chapter ack, hope you enjoy it! Also, we haven’t really gone back and grammar checked, just wrote all day, so we’ll probably be back to tweak a few things later)
> 
> PS: we made a couple small continuity edits to Chapter 2! If you need a refresher, of what happened, too, that’s totally fine:)

 

He tracked the Jeep’s owner with easy precision. His assessment indicated threat levels were negligible, so incapacitating them to acquire the car was unnecessary.

( _He_ was no longer the Asset. There was no one left to be an Asset to. Once, he’d been a soldier, then the Winter Soldier. He could be a Soldier now, even without an army to serve.)

The woman slips her keys into her purse as she walks up the stairs to the front door of the apartment building. The Soldier had walked from Brooklyn to Lower Manhattan once night had fallen, taking refuge in the fancy flower beds across the street from the building. Not the best cover, but he had to work with what he was given. The whispers from Barnes had not ceased for the entire two hour trek.

_What happened to my Brooklyn? Where’s...Steve. Beckah. Ma. The war. It was cold. It’s cold._

The Soldier paid no mind to the meandering complaints. He needed to keep moving. Find a place to regroup. That took priority over all else, even a troubling ghost in his subconsciousness.  

Once he was certain the area was clear, he made his way across the road, ducking behind the Jeep, crouched by the tires. He quietly unsheathed one of his knives, waiting a few minutes before standing up. He reached over the rim of the driver side door and popped the panel under the steering wheel with the tip of the knife. The electrical components fell out and he made quick work of stripping the wiring connected to the battery. As he worked, the Soldier planned their next move.

 

They would go where Steve Rogers was not, and that would have to suffice.

Bucky Barnes disagreed.

Suddenly, the Soldier’s organic arm jerked away from his control. Bucky Barnes reached for the horn, preparing to honk. The Soldier grabbed Barnes’ arm with his own, metal one, forcing it away from the wheel. As he did, the car’s exposed wires brushed up against the Soldier’s bionic forearm.

 

Pain explode through them.

_Not the chair. Not the chair notthechair_ ——

 

It was just a spark, really. A flicker of electricity. But it was enough to send them both reeling.

_Not the chair._ Bucky Barnes shuddered, letting out a quiet scream in the confines of their mind, before fading once more. The Winter Soldier shook himself, wincing as blackness crept along the edges of his vision. Something snapped.

He blinked.

The Soldier was sitting in the seat of a Jeep, one clearly in the middle of being hotwired, gripping his own wrist tight enough to bruise. He peered out of the window.

_Assess_.

It was night. The jeep was located at the end of a line of run-down brownstones, somewhere in New York.

_Brooklyn_ , something told him.

How had the Soldier gotten to Brooklyn?

The last thing he remembered was…

_A cramped apartment where a boy with long lashes and a too-skinny frame used to cough and hiccup and laugh._

_SMITHSONIAN written in bold over the same building._

_A pair of long brown pigtails, the hair carefully wound under his two flesh hands, tied with red ribbons._

_A gleaming tower rising above him._

_Blood. A girl._

 

_What girl?_ The Soldier shook away a faint impression of hazel-blue eyes. Compromised. His short-term memory retention must be compromised.

But he had a car. He was going to find shelter, _away_ from Steve Rogers (no matter what the whisper of Bucky Barnes said). And then...he would fix it all.

 

————

 

**_Culver University, 2011_ **

 

Darcy sighed as she made her way to the student center. Six credits. All she had left before she would kiss Virgina goodbye and move back to the Pacific Northwest. Lots of forests, wild game. Everything a werewolf could want. She thought of her mom and dad back in Wheeler, Oregon. They’d Skyped the night before, Darcy’s older brother, Luke, and younger sisters jostling for the chance to be in the camera.

_My first change is coming up!_ Elizabeth had said excitedly, dark curls piled into an adorably messy bun. Elizabeth and her other sister, Gabrielle, were like Darcy, having inherited the werewolf gene. Gabbie has already gone through a couple full moons and Lizzie was the last one to experience it.

_Don’t forget to take changes of clothes and snacks, Lizzie-Bee. Mom will be there with you._ Darcy has reminded her, smiling when Lizzie went off on a tangent about what color she hoped her fur would be. It had given Gabbie the opportunity to nudge her way into the frame, freckled cheeks flushed with exertion. She must have just come back from soccer practice.

_We’ve been winning games now that you've been out of state. Maybe you actually_ were _a bad luck charm after all._

Darcy had pretended to be offended, clutching a melodramatic hand to her chest. Her sisters had lapped it up.

_Gabrielle Ruth Lewis!_ Her mom had scolded. Gabbie stuck out her tongue in such perfect mimicry of twelve-year-old-Darcy, she’d almost choked on her laughter.

Luke had waved, quietly wishing Darcy luck in her last semester at Culver. She’d nodded and said her thanks, realizing how much she _missed_ them. They’d said their goodbyes when her parents mentioned it was time for chores and homework. Darcy would never admit it, but she’d teared up once the call had ended.

_Just one more semester and you’ll be back where you belong._

But first, she had to get those credits.

 

Darcy headed straight for the advising offices downstairs. One of them had to know something.

She’d just made it to her advisors’ door when she saw it. The actual piece of paper was pretty boring; just a regular memo, taped haphazardly to the door. The Libra symbol printed at the bottom, shimmering with just a touch of magic, was far more interesting.

_Weird way to mark a paper but I’ll bite. No pun intended._

 

**INTERNSHIP FOR DR. FOSTER.**

**COUNTS FOR CREDITS.**

**Dr. Jane Foster is in need of an intern for the next several months in New Mexico, where she will be conducting astronomical studies. Only serious inquiries please. No prior science experience necessary, just a willingness to learn and camp out in the desert! (Internship lasts until spring).**

And then there was that little Libra symbol.

Darcy reached out, brushing her fingers against the zodiac sign. It sparked under her fingers and she quickly pulled her hand away, eyes darting around. Looking back at the paper, she noticed a smaller set of words appearing at the bottom of the page.

**(A background in astrophysics isn’t required, but magical experience is.**

**Seriously, we just need someone who’s willing to get coffee and doesn’t mind the occasional divination spell gone wrong.)**

Darcy snorted. _I guess I fit the profile. The right credits and a few months out in the wilderness? Definitely taking the bait._

There was an email address and room number listed in one corner. After grabbing the piece of paper off the door, Darcy shoved it in her bag, speed-walking towards the science building. She hoped she knew what she was getting into.

 

———

**_Stark Tower, 2014_ **

 

“Darcy, we have no idea what we could be getting into!” Jane was ready to start throwing things again. First, Hydra infiltrators in the Tower (Jane had never seen Darcy’s wolf engaged in a life-or-death battle before. She still wasn’t really over it.) Next, Darcy had nearly got herself killed. _And_ _now she wanted to reveal their most life-threatening secret?_ Jane was about ready to blast herself into the stratosphere and live as some sort of space hermit. Space was quiet and hopefully didn’t have any squid-Nazis in it.

 

Darcy sat calmly on the edge of her medical cot, looking not-at-all put off by Jane’s outburst. “Janey, think about how we got into this mess in the first place. Hydra managed to grow inside SHIELD because the super-secret spy division made keeping super-secrets their M.O. We’ve been living in the Tower for what, thirteen months? Someone’s bound to notice eventually. It’s a miracle no one’s noticed so far, with a bunch of literal geniuses, espionage agents, and an omnipotent A.I. in the building.”

 

“Miss Lewis, I believe the correct term is ‘omniscient,’ though I appreciate the flattery.”

 

“Same diff, but I got you, J-Man.” Darcy finger-gunned at the ceiling.

 

Jane thought the werewolf looked entirely too cheerful for someone recently stabbed. Still, dark circles lingered on Darcy’s face, her skin still looked a little ashy, and her eyes were a little too dull.

_Needs more food and probably some therapy._ Jane suppressed the urge to swaddle Darcy up in a blanket and cry her eyes out. _As if that could protect her from what we might be facing_.

Jane reminded herself that she was angry, not weepy, and took a deep breath. “Darce, I know we’re running on borrowed time. But is this _really_ the best moment to break the news to them? Everyone’s still trying to pick up the pieces. One more shock might kill Tony. Even if they’re not hurt by _another_ betrayal, it might open you up to all sorts of exploitation or scientific prodding or—”

 

“Jane.” Darcy cut her off, calmly. “SHIELD’s gone. And think about the people we live with,” she started counting off on her fingers.

“One, a man who was literally turned into a eugenicists’ wet dream and then used as a tool for propaganda. Two, the isolated inventor who has to hide his squishy heart behind barbs and booze and armor just so the world doesn’t tear him apart. Three, a man who’s shut himself from the everyone because of a two-way fear street, and knows the danger of science taken too far. Four, a spysassin that’s been used and abused as a weapon by people who don’t care about her. I could go on.

“Aside from other shifters and supernaturals, who could possibly understand the situation better?

 

Okay. That was an excellent point, but—“All that damage, and you would still really trust them with your secret?”

 

“Our secret, technically. Didn’t you already tell them some of it?”

 

Jane waved a dismissive hand at her friend. “I convinced them we’d siphoned off some of Thor’s godly energy, said it helped your healing factor and let me do ‘things.’ Everyone was too relieved that you survived— _including me_ —to care much, anyways.”

 

Darcy snickered. “Oh yeah, you and Thor definitely did plenty of _siphoning_ …”

 

“If you’re trying to make me less mad, it’s not gonna work, you boob.” Jane said, scowling. The silly name only made Darcy laugh harder. “Besides, my little levitation tricks and healing spells are nothing compared to your furry little problem. Stop deflecting.”

 

“Do I trust them?” Darcy’s expression turned thoughtful. “Not sure.”

 

Jane was about to fly off the handle again when Darcy continued.

 

“It’s less about trust and more about honesty, Janey. I don’t want this to be the bomb that gets us evicted or worse—I’d rather have the reveal be on our terms. It’s not like we didn’t prepare for this.”

 

There was something resolute in the set of Darcy’s jaw as she said it. Jane felt her heart clench at the sight.

Maybe it would be okay. Maybe it would be better to live without the constant, niggling paranoia that someone would discover Darcy, would come after her with pitchforks and torches.

Old habits were hard to break, though; and Jane had been carrying her fear for Darcy around since…

 

———

**_Puente Antiguo, 2011_ **

 

“M’am, I’m going to need your iPod.”

Darcy tried not to growl, she really did. The rumble buzzed in her chest and the government thug looked at her over the rims of his stupid sunglasses. Jane nudged her, arms crossed protectively across her chest. Her friend definitely had it worse. Her _life’s_ _work_ was suddenly government contraband. They’d even taken Jane’s coffee machine.

“Fine. If I don’t get it back, I’m suing. That cost me over a hundred dollars of hard-earned money.”

The government goblin took it, putting it in his pocket. Darcy’s heel started tapping a frustrated tattoo.

“This is what we get for saving a person of interest?” Jane looked ready to start spitting curses. Darcy was being mentally bombarded with just how angry the astrophysicist was at the situation through their new empathetic link.

Another one of the suits came to take iPod Thief’s place. He carried himself with more authority than the others.

“All for the safety of the town. And for you three, of course.”

The man extended a patronizing hand in greeting. Neither of them return the gesture. Seemingly okay with being denied, the suit withdraws his hand, placing it behind his back.

“I’m Agent Phil Coulson, Senior SHIELD Agent. Your work has caught the eye of many, Dr. Foster. It’s lucky SHIELD got here first.”

 

“Is it? You’ve taken my entire lab! I can’t just rebuild those machines! Where will we go to continue our research? _How_ will we continue our research?”

Another less-than-friendly spike of rage, courtesy of one pint-sized witch, echoed in Darcy’s mind. It raised her own ire at the suits. The growl built, low in her throat.

_Can they like, get the fuck out of my territory? They’ve definitely overstayed their welcome._

Jane shot a warning glance in her direction at the threatening sound.

_Think of what they’d do to you if they knew, Darce!_

It was a sobering thought.

Remembering stories her grandad used to tell her, about how bad it was in Europe during the war. Grandpa Jacques had been lucky. Joining La Résistance and blowing up Nazis with his buddies. With Captain America himself. His wife, his sister… not so much.

No. None of these government organizations were going to find out about her _enhancements_. She’d rather die than become their science experiment.

Sensing Darcy’s reluctant submission, Jane’s gaze turned sympathetic, rather than terrified.

 

The last of Jane’s machines were loaded into the back of a windowless black van. The government goblins began piling themselves into similar MIB cars. ‘Coulson’ gave them a bland smile before nodding his head in their general direction.

“Thanks. We’ll keep in touch.” He left, exposing his unprotected back in a show of arrogant superiority.

The wolf threatened to come to a head at such an obvious dismissal. Darcy had to turn away so the remaining suits didn’t see her bearing pointed teeth.

Within minutes, the van and cars had gone. They’d left nothing.

“Well, at least they didn’t take our mini fridge!” Selvig exclaimed, trying to lighten the mood.

Jane didn’t cry, not then, but her humiliated fury burned molten down their bond. Darcy wrapped her in a bear (wolf) hug, squeezing her friend tight.

 

———

**_Stark Tower, Present_ **

 

Darcy breathed in Jane’s familiar scent, burrowing her face into her friend’s hair. The tiny astrophysicist smelled like starry desert nights, sage and wildflowers, with a hint of motor oil underneath. Jane held her just a little tighter before letting go.

Her warm brown eyes searched Darcy’s. “I’m not going to pretend I’m completely on board, here. If you’re ready, though, it’s your call to make.”

 

“Thanks, Janey.”

_Yeah. Just worried about you, silly Wolf Pup._

“Hey!” Darcy huffed playfully. “I’ll have you know I’m a fully grown, healthy female of the species.”

Jane just rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, put _that_ on your Tinder profile.”

Darcy stuck her tongue out. They grinned at each other for a few perfect moments. Then Darcy winced as her stab wound twinged. Reality came crashing back.

With a sigh, Jane moved to leave. “Are you going to ring up Pepper?”

 

“Yeah. Gotta tell her our time table is advanced, like, five years.” Darcy made another face. “But, I wouldn’t be surprised if High Lady Virginia Pepper Potts doesn’t know already.”

 

“She is pretty magical like that.” Jane smirked teasingly at Darcy. “I still can’t believe she sniffed you out so fast…”

 

———

**_Stark Tower, 2013_ **

 

Pepper Potts was the kind of woman Darcy wanted to grow up to be. She was the President of the richest tech company in the world, had great skin, and took no shit. But, being in the same room as someone you idolized from the moment you heard about her was nerve-wracking.

Especially when she’d just spouted out your best-kept secret like it was nothing.

 

“Are you psychic?” Darcy blurted, before she could think properly. “Ms. Virginia Potts. Ma’am.”

 

The (terrifyingly perfect) Ma’am in question just laughed. “You can call me Pepper, Darcy. And no, I’m not psychic—though that would make my board meetings far easier.”

 

Darcy wanted to smile back. Her face just wasn’t working properly. “...you won’t turn me over to SHIELD, will you? I heard they have major hard-ons for enhanced people. Really don’t want to wake up strapped to a table and missing my legs or something.” Sarcasm was her go-to when she was about to pee her pants from nerves. Pepper might as well have held Darcy’s heart in her hand.

Pepper smiled softly, gesturing to the ceiling.

“I had JARVIS enact an indefinite privacy protocol for my office. You are free to speak without fear of recording. This is all confidential, like any proper interview would be.”

She’d breathed a slight sigh of relief, but the knotted muscles in her shoulders stayed tight. Pepper reached into one of the desk drawers, pulling out a stack of papers. She pushed them toward Darcy.

“I’m sure you realize before living here, there will be numerous NDAs to sign. I usually forego such things unless absolutely necessary, but Tony is paranoid after New York.”

_I guess throwing a nuclear warhead into a wormhole would allow for some antsiness. Wasn’t he kidnapped once, too?_ Darcy tried to nod sympathetically.

“If you have any questions, feel free to ask. We can continue our discussion after you see what you’re really getting into.”

Pepper daintily placed a fountain pen on the top of the stack. Darcy admired her perfect, unchipped manicure. As she began filling out the forms, the elephant (well, lupine) in the room finally broke through her shock.

“How did you know what I was?” She didn’t look up from the forms, afraid of what Pepper would say. Her hands were already sweating. The wolf was ready to bolt.

 

“I’ve not actively sought any of your community out, but they’re on SI’s radar. Well, _my_ radar. Tony has enough to deal with now that he’s out as Iron Man and tied with SHIELD so closely. I just...knew the signs.”

 

Darcy slowly absorbed this new information.

Had the SHIELD goblins in New Mexico already known about her and Jane? Had Coulson? Was that why he acted so shifty? _Surely not, they would have just nabbed me and used the investigation into Thor as cover. Right?_

 

Pushing _that_ rabbit hole back for another day, Darcy glanced back at her forms. Concentrating on the scribbles of ink felt next to impossible.

“I also knew a witch in college at Yale. We were roommates, and she was dating a bear-shifter.”

A revelation is if there ever was one.

Looking up, she locked eyes with the CEO of Stark Industries. Darcy subtly listened for any changes in Pepper’s breathing or heart rate. Both stayed steady. Her pupils didn’t even dilate.

_Not lying, then._

“So you know Jane is…”

A nod and a smile from Pepper confirmed it.

 

“I must confess I’ve kept a bit of a secret from you, too. This meeting isn’t just for signing forms.”

“It isn’t?” What else would Pepper throw at her?

“I’ve heard whispers from a contact within the supernatural community that there is fear of exposure. Aliens exist, why not vampires and kelpies?”

Swallowing thickly, Darcy nodded in affirmation. She’d heard similar murmurings. Her own sisters had texted her, worried about ostracization from their friends if the secret came out. Some deep-web assholes calling themselves the ‘Truth Seekers’ had made it their goal to out anyone who was different or ‘other-worldly,’ since the Battle of New York and revelation of Asgardians.

“Yeah, I’m worried too. I’ve got baby sisters to protect.” Darcy paused, trying to gauge Pepper’s reaction. “What does that have to do with our interview?”

Pepper smiled again. This time it was sharper, business-like. _Almost predatory,_ Darcy thought, a flash of admiration lightening her anxiety. “You were one of the first to make contact with Thor. He calls you his ‘Lightning Sister.’ Technically, that already makes you one of Earth’s best representatives for interplanetary relations. Your recent Master’s in political science would also be an asset to foreign negotiations. You ran a small PR campaign for Thor after London, and I hear you’ve also dabbled in legal work?

“Might I ask why you’ve chosen to pursue these academic routes, yet continue to travel with Dr. Foster?”

Darcy nodded, gears turning. _If this is heading where I think it is…_ “Meeting Jane was a happy accident. Meeting Thor… well, we’ve always been a secretive community, but I can’t imagine we can keep our secrets for long now, what with new tech and conspiracy theorists everywhere. I want to be in a position to help, if and when the truth finally comes out.” She shrugged. “This seems like one of the best places to be.”

 

Pepper looked triumphant. “I thought it was something like that.” She leaned forward. “Since New York, I’ve been working with a legal team to try to draft provisions to protect the integrity of superheroes, while still making sure they’re responsible. We’re making steady progress towards something that could be revolutionary. Recently, I got a call from my former roommate, who had concerns similar to those you expressed. If at all possible, I’d like to work supernatural and interplanetary protections into the deal, as well—but I need liaison with intimate knowledge of the clientele. I am offering you a job as my legal advisor.”

Pepper steepled her fingers, resting her elbows on the glass-topped desk. Darcy felt like she was about to sign her life away to corporate America. In a way, she was. But the chance to help keep her community safe was too hard to pass up.

“I’m in like Flynn.” Darcy said as she signed her name on the final document.

 

———

**_Stark Tower, Present_ **

 

_“You know you are, Darcy. You’ve got this.”_

 

She could hear Pepper’s smile even through the telephone. Darcy let out a long breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Thanks, Pepper.”

 

_“Of course. I’m sorry things are advanced so much, but at least we have a head start. I suppose the one silver lining is that we won’t have any SHIELD suits breathing down our necks anymore.”_ Pepper hummed, as she tended to do when plotting. _“I’ll check in later, maybe send Rhodey over to make sure Tony doesn’t drink himself to death.”_

 

That made Darcy laugh. “He has been breaking into the hard stuff lately. I can smell it even from medical. Wish me luck!”

 

_“Good luck,”_ Pepper replied warmly, then hung up.

 

Darcy dropped her phone to the bed. Talking to Pepper always made her feel more capable. And it was true that SHIELD being out of the picture meant that their project had one less obstacle in its way…

 

Darcy bit her lip. _Time to stop stalling, pupper. Bite life in the jugular and all that._

_Eugh. Why are werewolf metaphors so icky?_

 

“JARVIS?”

 

“Yes, Miss Lewis?”

 

“Would you please ask everyone to come down to my room? There’s something I need to tell them.”

 

“Of course. I believe the Captain is currently asleep, but Sir, Dr. Banner, Mr. Wilson, and Dr. Foster are available. I believe Agent Romanoff is also en route to the Tower.”

 

“We can wait on Natasha, then. Just let Cap sleep. I think I might need to apologize for groping him when I was high on meds.” Darcy winced as she pushed herself out of bed. Her limbs were stiff from so much rest, the muscles cramped from tension. And nerves.

Darcy suddenly wondered just how much stress she’d taken on unknowingly as a result of concealing her secret. Would it ever be possible to really unwind?

\-----------

**_Asgardian Training Hall, 2013_ **

 

“You must learn to relax, Darcy.”

Darcy squinted up at Thor. There was sweat in her eyes and it was making her grumpy. There was also sweat between her boobs and running down her spine. It was all very uncomfortable.

“How can I relax when you keep suplexing me into the mats, Big Guy? My muscles are not happy with me.”

Managing to sit up, Darcy gratefully accepted the drink Jane handed to her. Thor had brought them both to Asgard as a sort of apology for vanishing for two years and only turning up when things got complicated. (Darcy suspected it was also a thank-you for making him an instagram and getting him booked to various talk shows so the English public were too enamored by his genuine compassion for their government to arrest him for destroying London.)

While vacationing in Asgard, the astrophysicist was enjoying magic lessons from one Lady Freyja. Darcy, on the other hand, was stuck learning combat.

Darcy’s body protested mightily as she collapsed back on the mat, drink in hand.

_Quit bitching! You signed up for this so you can defend your territory better!_

Taking a big gulp from the leather drink-bag(wineskin?), Dary allowed the buttery liquid to spread on her tongue. It made her feel deliciously warm as fresh energy oozed into her extremities.

“Ready to go again, Lightning Sister?”

Handing the wineskin back to Jane, Darcy nodded, taking Thor’s offered hand to help her stand. Her best friend scurried back to a nearby bench.

 

“You bet. I could do this all day.”

 

They started to circle, each daring the other to move.  Darcy’s enhancements extended to improved speed, metabolism, and senses, but after New Mexico she’d started training for at actual physical strength. Her wolf form would always be stronger, faster than the average human; she wanted her two-legged self to be a threat, too. Just in case.

“Just in case” didn’t quite account for Thor.

They both met each other in the middle. Getting a few hits in had Darcy whooping in triumph, Thor laughing along with her. Sometimes, he would call out how her form could be fixed.

“A strong base is the first step to putting power behind your blows and steadying your balance!”

Doing as he said, Darcy was able to dodge Thor’s fists without falling over as often. She managed to drag her claws around his bicep, darting just out of the way before he could grapple her. They broke apart. Circled. Crashed back together. Over and over again.

 

She doesn’t know how long they fought. All she knew was her shirt was soaked through with sweat when Thor called for the session to end.

Darcy collapsed to the ground, panting, tongue lolling out as she tried to catch her breath.

“Much improved already, Little Lightning Sister!”

Darcy blinked up at Thor indignantly. “Did you even break a sweat?” She heaved out. “No. Don’t look at me with your dumb, smug, handsomely bearded face, you stupidly attractive _gloater_.”

 

“Ah, Darcy. I have many years more experience than you,” Thor said amiably, but he kept grinning like the pretty bastard he was. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

 

“As you were, when we were first trained?” A clear, female voice cut through the air like smooth steel.

Darcy tipped her head back to see a pair of deadly plated boots, attached to a pair of equally deadly thighs. She hadn’t known a person could smell like open flames and molten metal and the bite of alcohol on the tongue.

 

Thor blushed pink. “I...do seem to recall something of that.”

Darcy wasn’t really listening. A dextrous, calloused hand had appeared in her field of vision, clearly an offer to help her up.

(Darcy’s Puppy Senses told her to lick the hand. Darcy firmly told her Puppy Senses that licking people randomly was probably as welcome on Asgard as it was on Earth.)

Luckily, Darcy was able to graciously accept the help without getting her tongue involved. She gasped a little as the hand’s owner hauled her handily to her feet, feeling a little short of breath as she stared into a pair of sharp peridot eyes.

Lady Sif smiled. It was a smile like brandished steel and—and Darcy was starting to sound like some sort of cheap pulp fiction novel. _But damn. That smell._

She tried not to whimper as Sif brushed a few locks of sweat-stroked hair from her brow.

“Then I suppose you should count yourself lucky, Thor. Lady Darcy does not debase herself to sulking, as you once did.” Sif threw a teasing grin in Thor’s direction. “But you always did desire praise and honors, rather than simply striving for improvement.”

 

Thor was almost as pink as a strawberry poptart. From her station on the sidelines, Jane looked as though she was trying hard not to laugh.

 

Sif turned her piercing gaze back to Darcy.

“What of you, little wolf?” She murmured.

 

“Huh?” Darcy answered, eloquently.

Sif laughed. “Why do you choose to learn the arts of combat? Is it for praise, just as young and brash Thor desired?

 

“Nu-no.” Darcy shook herself. It was like clearing water from her ears. “I don’t need honors or shi-I mean, stuff.”

 

Sif clicked her tongue, thoughtfully. “I was witness to your bravery in New Mexico, and heard of it again in London. You do not desire recognition for your courage? Perhaps to be able to live openly, as yourself?”

 

Frowning, Darcy pondered the question. _Living in the open would be nice, but…_ Her eyes snapped back to Sif’s, and this time she let a little of the wolf seep through. “I’m not doing this for me. I’m doing what I can to take care of the people I love. And even if they don’t accept _me,_ I’ll still be myself—just in a better place to help them. I think having that kind of strength would be honor enough.” For a moment, a shattered door frame and red-splattered walls flashed through Darcy’s mind. She swallowed. “I know what the alternative is, and I don’t want to feel that helpless ever again.”

 

That seemed to satisfy Sif. She grinned at Darcy— _a flirtatious grin that made Darcy’s Puppy Senses perk up with interest again_ —and settled into a battle-ready stance.

“Well, then, Darcy Lewis. Thor is training you for pure power, but you must learn speed and deception as well. Would you do me the honor of sparring?”

 

_Would she ever._

 

Darcy took a deep breath, and readied herself for the plunge.

 

————

**_Stark Tower, Present_ **

 

Darcy sighed, wiggling against her pillows to get more comfortable. JARVIS reassured her the available Avengers would be there any minute. There was nothing she could about looking like death had chewed her up and spat her back out, but hopefully her visitors wouldn’t comment on it. Grabbing one of Jane’s hands, she wished Pepper could be there, too.

_Stupid last minute business trips._

 

_“_ Are you still sure you want to do this? I know Pepper thinks it’ll be fine, but I’m wary. We don’t _really_ know how they’ll react.”

 

Darcy worried about that, too. Would Dr. Banner ‘Hulk’ out? Surely the secret wouldn’t be that dramatic or anxiety-inducing. Right?

_Just keep telling yourself it’ll be fine. Pepper and Jane won’t let the government perform weird experiments on you._

 

“Ms. Lewis, Sir and his associates will arrive in one minute and three seconds.” JARVIS says from the room speakers.

 

Swallowing thickly, she gives the ceiling a weak thumbs up with her free hand. Jane hissed, suddenly flexing her fingers in Darcy’s grip. Jane sent a message through the link, tone dripping with dark humor.

 

_Not so tight! I want to have use in all my fingers in case I have to fight one of them off._

 

“Sorry….I suppose it’s too late to start second guessing myself, huh?”

Jane’s glare could cut glass. When Tony and the others came in, they found the two friends locked in a silent staring contest. Darcy looked nauseous, but resolute, and Jane’s eyes were still narrow slits of annoyance.

 

“Interrupting something?” Tony said with a snicker.

They turned away from each other to face the music. Tony already had a tumbler of golden liquid in one hand. Natasha folded herself elegantly into a corner, one eyebrow expertly raised in affected curiosity; Sam, on the other hand, leaned against the door, flashing Darcy an encouraging smile. Bruce opted for the floor, leaving the only seat to Tony.

 

_Alright then, here we go. No going back now._

 

“Well, I suppose you’re wondering why I brought you here.” Darcy took a deep breath before continuing. “I haven’t exactly been forthcoming with _why_ I was able to survive a stabbing that life-threatening and don’t seem to be in too much pain.”

_Here we go. It’s now or never._

“How many of you are Team Jacob?”

**————**

Tony was frowning at the almost-empty-tumbler in his hand. Both Sam and Natasha were both still staring at Darcy, faces completely unreadable. Bruce had taken off his glasses, and was polishing them almost mechanically on the front of his shirt.

_Someone smelled like fear._ But it could have been any of them, or even Darcy herself. She smoothed nervous hands down her blankets. She’d retracted her claws, and the spoon Jane had levitated for demonstration now sat unassumingly on the nightstand. Jane practically vibrated with nervous energy at her side. For once, though, their empathetic link was quiet.

 

“Is this why we never have a girls’ night out?” Natasha asked suddenly, looking almost petulant.

 

Tony, who had just been taking the last swig of his decidedly alcoholic beverage, choked. Bruce let out a surprised guffaw of laughter, and Sam even contributed a weak chuckle.

 

“Damn, Lewis—Darcy,” He corrected himself. “When I said secrets, I didn’t—hell, I didn’t think—woof.” Sam blinked, then winced. “Sorry.”

 

Darcy gave him a small grin. “S’okay. Jane couldn’t resist the wolf puns the first couple weeks, either. They just kinda happened.”

 

Tony was still coughing. Bruce slapped him firmly on the back, before chancing a wary glance at the two women by the bed.

 

“Darcy, Jane,” he began carefully. “Not that we don’t appreciate you telling us this, but why now? Why haven’t we heard of... _people_ like you before?”

 

“SHIELD knew,” Natasha interjected. When all eyes turned to her, she shrugged, almost apologetically. “Not about Darcy and Jane specifically. There were just rumors of individuals who were ‘enhanced’ in ways science couldn’t explain.”

 

“But not many, I bet.”

 

Natasha nodded cautiously at Darcy.

 

Darcy sighed. “There’s not many of us left. Christian fanaticism, iconoclastic burnings and occult superstition wiped out the larger shifter populations in Europe and North America, and forced witchcraft,” she gestured to Jane, “as well as other supernaturals underground. We became bedtime stories instead of people.” She swallowed, throat suddenly dry. “Things were starting to get better, especially after the Victorian era ended. New advances in science made it easier to hide our differences or explain them away.

“Then came the wars. World War II, really...sorry for the surprise history lesson,” Darcy winced. Her stab wound was aching again.

 

Surprisingly, it was Tony who gestured for her to continue.

 

So she did. “You know about Hydra’s obsession with Teutonic myth or whatever, yeah? For them, werewolves were just a part of the genetic puzzle. To regular Nazis, all shifters and supernaturals were just more pests to be wiped out, more _vermin_.” Darcy bit back a snarl. “Hydra decided we could be weapons. Or at least, taken apart to make them stronger.”

 

Bruce closed his eyes, mouth a thin line.

 

She cast him a sympathetic look, before leveling her gaze at Sam. “I didn’t tell Steve this next part because I was too scared to bring it up, and then have to keep so much else from him. I _am_ the granddaughter of a Howling Commando. Two, actually. And the granddaughter of werewolf survivors of WWII. ”

 

Again, Natasha lifted an eyebrow.

 

“Yeah, they kept it out of the SHIELD files. Hydra,” Her voice faltered. Jane squeezed her hand again, a show of solidarity. “Hydra kept hunting us, see. And they found my family when I was twelve.”

_Blood on the floor. Splinters in her hair. Hot rage on her tongue._

“So my grandpas stripped their families from the SHIELD records.” Darcy tried for a smile, despite the sting in her eyes. “And forbid us to tell anyone, unless they were part of our world already...or we knew we could trust them.”

The implication hung heavy in the air.

Jane stepped up to bat: “We’re telling you all now because it seemed like it was time to air out all the dirty laundry, before any of it trips us up like SHIELDRA again. We know that it might be harder for you to put your faith in us, after this, but—” she blew out a huff, searching for the right words. “But Darcy and I realized that you deserve to know exactly what we’re capable of. So no one gets hurt protecting us. So no one gets hurt because we kept you in the dark.”

 

“Does Pepper—” Tony started, then shook himself. “Of course Pepper knows, doesn’t she?”

Darcy nodded. “We’ve been drafting protections for the supernatural community. She didn’t like not telling you, but you _are_ barely holding it together as it is.”

 

The room was silent again. Darcy willed them to understand. She had told her part of the story, now it was up to the Avengers to accept her and Jane for who they were. _Or..._

 

“Well, I don’t know about any of you, but I deserve a drink after all of that.” Tony’s voice was faint, like he didn’t want to draw attention to himself.   **“** Shortstack, can werewolves have liquor or will it incapacitate your lupine metabolism?”

 

The room seemed to exhale, just a little.

“I still want that girls’ night,” Natasha offered. A small smile played around her mouth, though her eyes stayed serious. “This is...a lot to take, but I think I prefer sorcery and claws over all this male testosterone any day.”

 

Darcy found it in herself to laugh. “Aw, Tony, you know I can drink, but it isn’t a good idea to have any this close to a full moon. Wish I could partake—I’ll hold you to that date, Natasha. I need something after...this.”

 

_We’ll have a tequila night next week._ Jane reassured her through the empathy link. Darcy turned her head to send her friend a weak smile.

 

At the mention of the full moon, Bruce perked up, clearly curious. Jane nipped that disaster in the bud, thankfully.

 

“Well, I think our patient needs some rest now. Any questions you have can wait.” The tiny witch clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention and began to shoo them out of Darcy’s hospital room.

 

Bruce almost looked disappointed his questions would have to wait, but nodded good naturedly. She made eye-contact with Sam. He shrugged. “Hey Stark, you got any beer? I think I’d like a drink, too.”

It gave her an excuse to look back at Tony. His was the reaction she was most nervous about—he could literally evict them, and personal secrets were already a touchy subject. Tony, however, was starting to look more thoughtful than dejected. He pointed to Darcy. “I expect to be invited to your and Pep’s fancy meetings from now on. Need to make sure that your werewolf pheromones don’t seduce my woman, or whatever. Birdman? I’d be delighted to get you a beer.”

Darcy couldn’t help snickering as Tony almost power-walked out of the room.

_Wonder if he’s going to comb through old SHIELD files and google ‘How to Take Care of a Werewolf in 3 Easy Steps!’_

Bruce rose, padding over to give Darcy’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You’ll let me know if any of your injuries flare up again, right? It’ll be easier to treat you now that I know you’re enhanced. We can roll back some of the pain meds.”

Darcy nodded gratefully. A flash of red caught her eye—Natasha slipping from the room without a second glance.

 

_Guess it couldn’t be_ that _easy,_ Jane thought at her. The astrophysicist closed the door quietly behind Bruce and herself, waving a little goodbye as she went.

 

Exhaustion seeped into Darcy’s bones as the truth bomb adrenaline faded from her system. She ended up falling asleep almost as soon as her eyes closed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. This was so hard to write. Very wordy. Much speech. (BUT WE DID IT, YAY)  
> How did we do? Any gaping plot holes we need to cover? Things that seemed OOC? The reveal was super difficult to plot, but we have all the individual Avengers’ reactions planned and accounted for.
> 
> (PS: Bucky/Winter Soldier's reaction is a real thing--Anterograde Amnesia. Here's a link: http://www.human-memory.net/disorders_anterograde.html)


	4. Howling At The Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nearly a century apart, two Brooklynites sniff out the truth...  
> Gratuitous Commando/Comic Easter Eggs!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who’s Izzy Cohen?: Isadore "Izzy" Cohen was one of the Howling Commandos who appeared in Sgt. Fury and the Howling Commandos vol. 1, published in May 1963. He also comes from Brooklyn and he is canonically Jewish. Show him love in the comments!

**_[LOCATION REDACTED], 1943_ **

**_Two Weeks After the Escape from Azzano_ **

Izzy had to be in a nightmare. That was the only explanation for what he was seeing.

 

“I know what this looks like. Well, I probably don’t, but I can explain.” Dernier wipes the back of his hand across his face and it only serves to spread the blood across his cheek. Blood didn’t phase Izzy anymore, but seeing it stain one of your buddies’ teeth was a bit hard to ignore.

 

“ _Who’s_ blood is that, Dernier?” Izzy’s eyes darted around their camp.

 

It was evening. Most of their tactical unit was preoccupied with unloading the Jeeps. The good Captain was having his marksman friend pick shrapnel out of his back. Izzy could hear Barnes swearing from where he stood, just behind the men’s latrine station.

Dernier growled, sounding far more animalistic then a human ever should. A primal terror slid cold fingers down the mechanic’s spine.

Izzy was Brooklyn born and raised. He didn’t run from trouble. Even when that trouble was staring at him with shrewd, predatory eyes.

Dernier cocked his head to one side, as though listening, before he answered Izzy.

“Not anything human. Walk with me? Unless you decide to run screaming for the hills.” There was an heavy anxiety underlying the Frenchman’s thick accent. His eyes darted around their surroundings, as if afraid of being caught.

It was a fear Izzy was intimately familiar with.

“Sure….so long as it won’t do me any harm. I don’t wanna end up as your next meal.”

 

Dernier huffed a relieved sigh. “You’re too stinky to warrant eating, anyways, American.”

 

Dernier pulled a grubby handkerchief from his pocket, dabbing at the blood on his chin, before turning away and walking into the tree line of the surrounding forest.

Against his every instinct, Izzy followed. This was Jacques. He trusted him. (Even though he had a wrench tucked into his back pocket, just in case things went south,) he trusted _all_ of their men, strange though they might be.   _His explanation better be good, though._

It wasn’t the one Izzy was expecting in the slightest.

 

\-------------

 

**_Stark Tower, 2014_ **

**_Two Weeks and Two Days Since Last Lab-Stabbing_ **

Darcy was going stir crazy. She was tired of looking at the same four walls, being tended to by the same medical bots over and over again. Banner had also been here a few times. He took blood samples, while Darcy did her level best not to snap at him. Still, he’d apologized profusely for the intrusion. Jane had told her to stop being so dramatic.

And now, it was here. The full moon. She couldn’t even _see_ the moon from her med room, only a thin sliver of light drifting through one narrow window; but she could feel the need to change crawling under her skin like ants. Rolling off the bed in a very undignified way, Darcy scratched at her arm; rolled her neck, heard it crack.

That’s how it always started.

She slipped to her hands and knees, crawling to a corner of room. Darcy scratched at her arm again. She whined when the pain flared. A _crack_ sounded from her jaw.

The wound on her side stung. Darcy could almost feel the bubble and stretch of skin around it.

_Werewolf Stereotype #2: As in Twi*l*ght, werewolves just yeet into lupine form by leaping ( shredding their tasteful boy-scout shorts in the process) and cinematically transform mid-air._

_Werewolf Fun-Fact #4: Older wolves can change at will, but everyone has to shift at least once around the full moon. And it frickin’ hurts._

 

It was the last thing she thought before blacking out.

**_\------------------_ **

Steve wasn’t entirely sure what woke him. His room was dark, though his enhanced eyes quickly adjusted to the small amount of light provided by the digital clock on his nightstand.

_10:07 PM_

Steve rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. He’d slept for almost 16 hours straight. At the hospital, he’d had fitful naps in between active recovery. This was the longest he’d been out since before the serum.

_That one really did a number on ya, Punk? Wasn’t sure you’d ever wake up again._

_Shuddup, Jerk. You knew I’d pull through._

_I like to set my expectations low. That way you might be able to reach them._

Steve scrubbed a hand over his eyes. When he set his mind to it, Captain Rogers could perform a truly impressive sulk. He was, however, pulled from preparing a brooding pout of earth-shattering proportions by an incredibly faint _whiiiiiiiiine_.

Steve glanced at the wall, from whence the noise had apparently come, super-ears pricked.

_Skkrrrrtch._

Scratching sounds were accompanied by something more akin to a whimper.

 _Coming from Darcy’s room,_ Steve’s recently-moody-and-dramatic brain helpfully supplied.

He hadn’t seen much of Miss Lewis in the last week or so. Both were on the mend, mostly sleeping and being fussed over by Bruce. And...honestly, Steve still felt guilty for his indirect involvement in her stabbing. He wasn’t sure how to address Darcy’s possible descendance from Jacques, either.

According to Sam, Miss Lewis and Dr. Foster called a meeting sometime last week to bring new information to light. Though Steve had pressed his friend for details, the fellow vet was reluctant to share.

 

_“Can’t really tell you. It’s their story to tell.” Sam had scrubbed the back of his neck, looking truly uncomfortable for the first time since Steve met him. Catching Steve’s wary glance, Sam shook his head. “Nothing life-threatening, far as I can say, just...a shock. It’s a bit of a hairy situation.” The corner of Sam’s mouth twitched. “Or is it a furry situation? Damn, she was right about the puns. Cap, do you know what a furry is? Cuz we’re living with one.”_

_Steve stared at him, completely nonplussed._

_Sam just flapped an impatient hand at him. “Get off your butt and actually go talk to Lewis about it. She obviously doesn’t blame you for Barnes, and you should know what’s going on.”_

 

Shaking Sam’s perspicacious remark from his mind, Steve heard another muffled whine come from the room next door. He knew he still wasn’t at 100%, but if there was a threat, he’d be able to neutralize it.

Of course, Steve decided to overlook the fact that he’d been in critical condition less than a month ago. His leg was already throbbing by the time he managed to make it outside the room, muscles groaning from underuse.

Bucky used to curse Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and as many saints as he could name when Steve would relapse from working before he was completely well.

Shaking his head again to dislodge the bittersweet memory, Steve steeled himself against the pain and trudged the short distance to the adjoining med room observation window.

What he saw stopped him cold.

Heart pounding, Steve stared dumbstruck at the unnaturally large wolf pacing Darcy’s room.  Steve squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them, though, the wolf was still there.

Despite his shock, the artist in him ached at the creature’s feral beauty. Russet brown fur rippled over lean muscle, a silvery swath on its underbelly a stark contrast to darker streaks of umber. A pair of amber eyes briefly caught the light. The wolf stalked to a corner of the room where a shredded, bloody pile of clothes lay in a heap. Miss Lewis was nowhere to be found.

“JARVIS,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Where’s Miss Lewis? How did that wolf get here?”

There was no answer.

_Am I dreaming?_

His eye caught a rust-colored stain streaked across the wall. Panicking slightly, Steve flicked on the hallway light switch. The fluorescent lighting caught a glimmer from the wolf’s fur. Before Steve’s common sense could catch up with him, he jerked open the door, slipping inside. He kept his eyes on the wolf the whole time, waiting for it to try to bolt.

Strangely, the predator didn’t move to strike. It only watched him warily, tail flicking back and forth as it paused.

Cautious, Steve flipped the room’s low-light switch. Again, a flicker caught in the wolf’s thick pelt--a gleam of metal. Two Stars of David hung from a thin chain around the animal’s neck.

 _Miss Lewis has a necklace like that,_ his perfect memory recalled. _Never takes it off, either._

Ice settled in his stomach.

No. No way. It was impossible.

_Impossible like a scrappy, asthmatic kid from Brooklyn becoming Captain America?_

Steve sucked in a sharp breath.

“.....Miss Lewis…?”

The wolf made deliberate eye contact and actually _nodded_. Steve slumped against the wall.

_How in the…_

He suddenly remembered his Ma, telling him teasingly that vampires and ghouls and werewolves had stayed in the old country. _No pookas here in New York, a dhuine chléibh. Don’t bother yourself worrying over shadows in the night._ Sarah Rogers knew a library’s worth of fairy stories, but was always quick to differentiate fact from fiction when relaying them to Steve. She’d also told him that aliens existed only in Bucky’s pulp fictions.

 _Look, Ma,_ he thought wryly. _Guess all those old tales didn’t stay put._

He’d handled the Battle of New York. He could handle… whatever this was.

 

“So, when did this happen?” Steve watched the wolf (Darcy?) begin padding around the room again, sniffing at the corners. The wolf turned her head to look at Steve. A huff of air escaped her nose. (What did _that_ mean?) Padding to the door, she scratched at the wood, but Steve refused to budge.

 

“Even if you are Darcy, I’m not letting you out of here, so get comfortable.”

The wolf whined. Obviously displeased, she stalked back over to the bed, scrambling up onto it.

Steve’s mind was still in free fall, scrambling for a proper response. “Is this what Sam meant when he said there was a hairy situation? That we had a ‘furry’ on the premises?”

The wolf stared at him. Then she collapsed into the bed, chest shuddering with a hacking rumble.

 

Though startled, Steve realized she was _laughing._ “What?” He demanded. “What did I say?” As soon as he was healed, Sam was getting the ass-kicking of a lifetime.

Wolf-Darcy kept chuckling. Steve had a sudden urge to stick his tongue out at her, as he’d seen the ex-intern do on a number of occasions. As the chuckles subsided, the wolf suddenly flinched, letting out a whine of pain. Steve glanced back to the red stains on the wall.

“Darcy, are you bleeding?”

Snout wrinkled, the wolf shook her head. She rolled onto her back, then patted the bed beside her with one paw.

 _Sure,_ Steve thought. _That’s not any weirder than the rest of tonight._

Steve sat down heavily on the bed. It was barely big enough for a large wolf and a super soldier, but Darcy wriggled up to his side, letting out a soft whine.

What she was trying to show him became clear immediately. Along the wolf’s ribcage, a palm-sized patch of fur was dark with dried blood. Slowly, Steve lifted a hand to the injury, watching Darcy carefully. She flinched a little when his hand grazed her. The wound seemed to have closed, though, the fur stiff and not at all sticky.

“Is your healing enhanced?” Steve murmured. He had wondered how Darcy managed to be up and about so quickly after a near-fatal accident, while he remained confined to bedrest.

The wolf nodded again, amber eyes bright with discomfort.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Wolf-Darcy just panted, snuggling closer.

Steve nodded back, suddenly unsure. His eyes caught again on the thin chain around the wolf’s neck.

_They were crouched somewhere in the Apennines, huddled close around the fire. Bucky’d managed to scrounge up a flask from somewhere. The Howling Commandos passed the metal tin back and forth, swigging liberally. Something glinted in the firelight as Izzy Cohen leaned forward to pass the flask to Gabe Jones._

_“Watcha got there, Izzy?” Bucky asked the mechanic, teeth chattering._

_Izzy’s hand went to his throat. “This?” He pulled a thin leather strap over his head. A metallic, six-pointed star dangled from the end of the strap._

_Conversation died down between the other Howlies._

_Steve licked his lips. “Izzy, do you know_ — _I mean did you have_ —”

_“We had cousins in Vienna.” Izzy tried for a smile, but all he managed was a pained sort of grimace. “We knew things were bad, when they managed to get letters to us. And then they just...stopped.” Shadows danced across expression, deepening the hollows of his eyes, the set of his mouth. He glanced darkly down at the star. “Shoulda been here sooner.”_

Steve could still see Izzy’s face, contorted with grief and rage, could see the way the metal symbol had glowed, catching the firelight as though it itself burned.

The same Star of David now gleamed silver against Darcy’s pelt. He didn’t know where the second star was from. Suddenly, he was drowning in the Arctic again, cold clenching in his chest.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Steve was unable to keep the hurt out of his voice. _Did Izzy ever find his family? Did he and Jacques get to have kids?_

If she was human, Steve would have called the way Darcy lowered her head “repentant.” It just didn’t seem quite the same when a hundred-fifty pounds of predator did it. _Because that was another issue he knew almost nothing about._

Steve huffed. “Can you talk?”

With an exaggerated eye-roll, the wolf lifted her head, opening and closing her jaw in a mimicry of human speech.

“Right.” Steve flopped back onto the bed. “Can we talk about this? Later, I mean. Once you’re...back.”

Darcy-Wolf pondered the question before nodding again. She then rolled off the bed, pushed a chair up so she could hit the light switch, before returning. Steve would have left, but the wolf simply curled herself onto half the bed.

She looked up at him expectantly.

_Am I allowed to call them puppy eyes if they’re literally…_

“If I stay, will you answer all my questions in the morning?”

Another nod.

“Okay.”

 

Steve lay back down, turning so that he could keep an eye on the wolf. She had stuffed her head under the pillow, and was making little whimpering sighs; after a moment’s hesitation, Steve laid a comforting hand on her back. The gesture seemed to help Darcy.

Steve fell asleep to her quiet, steady breathing, trying not to remember the last time he’d lain this close to someone.

 

\------------------------

**_[LOCATION REDACTED], 1943_ **

**_Two Weeks After the Escape from Azzano_ **

 

“So, werewolves. A French werewolf.” A strange mix of stupified intrigue colored Izzy’s voice.

“You took that better than I hoped.” Dernier was leaning against a nearby tree, sparking up a cigarette. He shrugged his jacket back on, having partly transformed to prove to Izzy what he said was true. The deer carcass Dernier had been feeding off of lay partly buried in a nearby snowdrift, pink tinting the white.

Izzy moved so he was leaning against the same tree as Dernier. His intrinsic engineer’s curiosity was running through the logistical improbabilities of lycanthropy, but concern for his friend took priority.

_Show him you ain’t afraid. Can’t wolves smell fear?_

“You could say that. Doesn’t mean I don’t have a shit ton of questions, though.” Izzy crossed his arms over his chest. When Izzy tipped his head back to the clear night sky, he caught the faintest outline of a pregnant yellow moon.

“Ask away.”

Izzy wasn’t sure where to start, so he picked the easiest question.

“Don’t you, ya know, have to change during a full moon? Call out to it?”

Dernier snorted, blowing a stream of smoke from his nostrils.

“Of course, though not like in the stories, and no one makes noises at a hunk of rock. Howling is to communicate or show solidarity. Too long without a change is dangerous for the body. A few hours as a wolf will do, and the older one is, the simpler it is to control. It is easier to... _je me cache..._ to _hide_ myself in the woods. I can catch wild game to be sure I have enough energy. Also, you Americans thugs sleep like stones, I’m not sure you’d wake up until Hydra was upon us.”

Izzy chuckled, turning his gaze from the sky to Jacques’s smirking face. “Hard to sleep with Frenchies like you snoring up a storm.”

 

“ _Touché_. Was that all you wanted to know?” Jacques queried, stubbing the spent cigarette on the sole of his boot.

 

“I don’t need to know everything in one go. But...are there...more of you? Family members”

A muscle jumped in Dernier’s jaw. “My sister and wife. Many wolved had lived in our village.”

 _Had._ Izzy paused. “Hydra got ‘em?”

 

Dernier cleared his throat. Paused. “I was not at home,” he began, accent thickened with emotion. “Schmidt heard tell of our people. He wanted them for _experiments_.” Jacques spat on the ground. “When I returned, it was all burned. Those who tried to change and fight were killed. Others must have been captured. I went looking--”

 

“And ended up in Azzano,” Izzy finished for him.

 

Jacques nodded tightly.

 

Izzy slid a careful arm around his comrades’ shoulders. “We’ll find ‘em, Jacque. And we’ll torch Hydra to the ground.”

A flicker of gratitude slid over Dernier’s features.

This time, it was Izzy’s turn to clear his throat. “If… when we get to them, I know some people who could help smuggle ‘em to safety. And anyone else you know who might need it.”

Jacques stared. “Truly?”

The relief that had washed over Jacques’ face was suddenly clouded by suspicion. “Most people are not...so accommodating of wolves.”

 

Izzy chewed his lip. “Before you have a cow (or eat one) your big secret is safe with me. I had family here, too. Once. I know what it is to be afraid they’ll be revealed, captured, tortured.” Izzy dropped his gaze, swallowing back the tears. “I know what it’s like to have that come true. Don’t want to see the same happen to anyone else.”

Dernier’s face softened. One hand squeezed Izzy’s shoulder, and he hummed in understanding. They both went quiet, looking up at the sky.

 

“I wouldn’t have told, if you hadn’t seen me like that.”

 

“Yeah. ‘S okay, now I can help you sneak off ‘n stuff. It’ll be like hide-n-seek.”

 

 

“Dernier? Izzy? Where’d you guys run off to?” Gabe’s voice echoed off the trees.

 

 

“Well,” Izzy clapped Jacques on the shoulder. “Shall we go rejoin our fellow warriors?”

 

“There ought to be a name,” Jacques muttered. “If we are to be a special fighting force. What did the stiff Captain call us? 'Commandos?' It needs more, how would you say? _Bite_ to it.”

 

He walked a few paces before realizing that Izzy was no longer with him. Turning, Dernier was put immediately on his guard.

 

A (positively wolfish) grin split Izzy’s face. “Jacques, my friend, how do you feel about puns?”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a dhuine chléibh - my dear boy (Irish Gaelic) 
> 
> How's the world-building so far?
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!


	5. All The Better To Hear You With

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Darcy have a chat but not the kind you'd expect to have with at least one naked party. 
> 
> Bucky Barnes makes a furry friend outside of the Smithsonian.
> 
> (TW: Bucky has a mild anxiety attack in this chapter.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're baaaaack!!!! Welcome to Chapter 5, lovely readers!

It was hard to tell what time it was when Darcy woke up. A deliciously  _ healthy  _ smell surrounded her, almost enough to convince her to snuggle back under the blankets and keep sleeping, if she hadn’t felt so well-rested. It was rare to be so contented after a full change. Pricking her ears, she listened for sounds out in the hallway. There were muffled, anxious voices nearby. 

_ Did someone get hurt? _

Darcy froze, sitting up in the bed quickly. 

_ Did  _ she _ hurt someone?  _

“Mrghf…” A voice rumbled next to her. 

“FUCK!” Darcy unceremoniously fell out of the hospital bed, hissing when her bare skin hit the cold tile. Her joints and stab wound also screamed in agony. Swearing under her breath, she managed to inch her way to the small, uncomfortable couch near the bed. Grabbing the blanket off of it (Jane had brought it a few days ago) she shakily gets to her feet, wrapping herself in the soft fabric. The tattered remains of her hospital gown were laying in a lump in the corner. 

_ That’s just great, isn’t it?  _

Darcy heard the unintelligible voice again. She whirled around. The man laying on the bed has her stomach nearly falling out of her ass. 

“Captain America?” She whispered harshly, scuttling back to the bed like a crab. 

The said man rolled over to his side, back facing her, falling back asleep pretty quickly. 

“Uh...J?” 

The AI doesn’t answer. 

“J? J-Man..?” 

Still nothing. 

“JARVIS!” She whisper-shouts, tightening the blanket around her nude body. 

“Privacy protocol for medical unit assigned to Shortstack ended. How can I be of assistance, Miss Lewis?” 

Flicking her eyes back to the figure on the bed, she steeled herself before speaking. 

“I need a new hospital gown and that’s definitely a bloodstain on the wall. Probably need to get someone in here to get the national icon back in his room, too.” 

“Of course, Miss Lewis. I will let someone know. Does Captain Rogers need to be removed immediately?”

The cool metal of the charms on her chest reminds her of Steve’s (mostly) one-sided conversation from the night before. Biting her lip, Darcy remembers the earnest, pleading expression Captain America wore.

_ If I stay, will you answer all my questions in the morning? _

“Not...just yet, J-man.”  _ Gah. You wanted snuggles so badly you traded away your right to plead the fifth, huh? Bad Puppy Senses. Very, very bad. _

_ Werewolf Stereotype #3: Wolves are super territorial all the time and will maul your face off.  _

_ Werewolf Fun-Fact #5: Really, wolves don’t like uninvited guest encroaching on their territory. As pack animals, they’re typically quite sociable, even cuddly, when in a non-threatening environment. _

Darcy was just trying to decide whether or not to wake her sleeping companion, when suddenly, he rolled to face her, wide-eyed and obviously quite alert.

“Thought you were gonna kick me out,” Steve said mildly. Darcy had another small heart-attack. 

“I—I’m naked!” She blurted.  _ Great job drawing attention to the fact, Lewis. _

 

“Oh.” Steve blinked. “Sorry.” He rolled onto his back to stare up at the ceiling.

That was not the reaction Darcy had been expecting. “Um...you’re not upset?”

Steve snorted derisively before dramatically flinging a hand over his eyes. Sucking in a deep, dramatic breath, he cried, “ My eyes! The sin! Miss Lewis, you’ve corrupted me forever with your dastardly feminine form!”

Darcy rolled her eyes and pulled the blanket a bit tighter around herself. 

“Well, every good national icon needs a good corrupting every now and again.” Darcy’s mouth said, completely detached from her brain. 

She sat down on the edge of the bed, careful to keep as much distance between her and Steve as possible. 

Steve let out a pained sigh. “It was a joke. You do know I traveled around with chorus girls for nearly a year, right? I’ve seen my fair share of ladies undergarments.” Darcy’s jaw must have actually hit the floor because Steve quickly amends his statement. 

“Only accidentally! ...well, except when they wanted me to see them.” He peeked out from behind his hands, eyebrows waggling

Darcy managed to close her mouth, her teeth lightly hitting together. “They never told me you were an asshole” She snapped.  _ Oops. Another great play by Lewis.  _ Maybe he would bodily throw her out of the Tower.

Steve perked up in bed. “I’m from Brooklyn, Lewis. Did Cohen forget to mention that, too?”

_ Right. _ Darcy kind of wished she could throw herself out the Tower. She lowered her eyes, but couldn’t help another barb. “I dunno. Did he ever tell  _ you _ where the Commandos’ name came from?”

Steve was silent for a few moments. 

“Well, shit. What is it with all these puns?” 

Darcy’s head snapped up.

“Yes, Lewis, I swear, too. Can I ask some questions now?”

Darcy’s mouth had decided to work overtime. “You’ve already had three.”

To her surprise, Steve laughed. “Okay, fair. Just so we’re close to being on the same page, Jacques Dernier and Isadore Cohen are your ‘grandpas,’ yeah?”

 

Darcy slid one of her hands to the Star of David charms around her neck again. She nodded, finally meeting Steve’s eyes. They were bright with emotion, one she couldn’t quite read. It unsettled her.

“Two for two. Grandpa Izzy and Grand-père Jacque. Want to guess which one passed down the werewolf gene, Spangles?” 

 

Steve snorted at the nickname. “How original. Tony  _ definitely  _ hasn’t used that one a couple hundred times already.” He bit his lip, thinking. “...must’ve been Dernier, right? He always called himself a  _ tombeur de femmes  _ in French _ ,  _ and a ‘silver wolf’ in English. We just thought he liked mistranslating the idioms. So that’s what you are? A werewolf?”

“You’re taking this all remarkably well,” Darcy said, trying to be arch. “But, yes, I most definitely am a werewolf.” 

 

“I once saw the Hulk punch an alien space-whale in the face. Things stop being surprising after that. What’s a furry, then?” When she looked up, Darcy saw a teasing smirk playing about the Captain’s mouth, though there was still something hurt in his expression.

“You don’t want to know.” She answered shortly.  _ Definitely not explaining lifestyle kinks to Captain America. That’d be too weird, even for me. _

Steve shrugged, as though he’d been expecting that answer. “I’ll just google it later.”

“Please, don’t.” 

“What’s this fangled interwebnet for, if not to discover fun and horrible new things?” Steve wiggled his eyebrows again. “Is it better or worse than 50 Shades of Grey?”

He really was a little shit.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” 

 

“Worse, then.” Steve patted the bed beside him, in an odd reversal of last night. “C’mon, Miss Lewis, stop looking at me like I’m gonna call Animal Control. Pretty sure you could rip my throat out if I tried anything funny.”

Carefully, Darcy climbed back onto the bed. “Sure I’m not a danger to your virtue, Cap?”

Steve sighed. “Look, no matter how often Tony implies otherwise, I’m not some dewy-eyed virgin. Which reminds me,” He glanced up at the ceiling. “JARVIS? Could you please stop all further deliveries of Playboy magazines (or whatever else Tony thinks is inappropriate to send me) to my room?”

“Of course, Captain Rogers. Would you like an update on the ‘Year Cap was Deflowered’ betting pool rates, as well?”

“Please.” Steve cast an amused glance at Darcy’s dumbfounded expression. 

“Currently, the monetary sum has tripled.  The pool now includes a  Lexus GX 460 , one barrel of Asgardian mead, and Sir’s stock of 1820 Pasión Azteca. No one has bet on a date prior to 1942.”

Darcy stared at Steve, eyebrow quirking. 

“Hey, J? Since the good Captain isn’t going to hand me over to animal control, I think it’s time he went back to his med pod. I  _ am _ still nude after all.” 

“I have alerted the medical bots for you, Miss Lewis.”

Steve let out another snort. “Aw, really? You meet the real me and it’s back to the silent treatment? That’s cold, Lewis.”

“Hey.” Darcy was starting to get just the smallest bit annoyed. “It wasn’t that I didn’t like you, okay? How are you supposed to walk up to someone like, ‘hey dude, I know we’ve only talked a couple times, but I know what kind of underwear you wore under the suit in 1943, also I’m the grandchild of two of your old, dead war buddies, BT-dubs, they were keeping this _huge ass_ secret from you the whole time, and it almost got us all murdered a few years ago, and now you’re alive and I’m not sure what I should or should not tell you, also _you’re a literal national icon,_ does that mean withholding info is a felony offense, and you’re responsible for the fact that my families actually met and led to me and—’”

Darcy hadn’t realized she was shouting until Steve put a gentle hand over her mouth, eyes wide. This close, she could catch a faint whiff of charcoal on his skin. There was a low ripping sound. Her claws had extended, digging into the bed. Darcy took a deep, shuddering breath, then exhaled.

Steve slowly lowered his hand. 

“Sorry,” he whispered.

“Sorry? Why are you sorry? I’m the one who just,” Darcy gestured at the ruined mattress.

Steve’s eyes darted to the sizeable tears before fixing back on her face. He didn’t look scared, just remorseful. “I was...trying to get a rise out of you.” His face pinked a little at the admission. “I’m a lot angrier than I realized, I guess. It just feels like every time I find my feet, there’s some new secret pulling the rug out from underneath me. Like I never really knew the people I thought I was closest to.”

Goosebumps rise on Darcy’s skin. Grand-père Jacques used to have that same bitter taint to his voice, whenever he was a little too deep in his cups, remembering their exposure and its consequences. _Never trust anyone with your story, little Loup,_ he’d growled at her, once. _Even if you think you know theirs. You don’t know him_ , she reminds herself. _You know his stories, but you don’t know this man. You don’t owe him anything._ Unbidden, Sam Wilson’s words drift back to her: _I think Cap—and everybody else—deserves a little more honesty._

“Steve?” 

He looked at her, expression somewhere between wary and worried.

“I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. Just ask.” She bit her lip. “About werewolves, or about my family. I’ll be honest.”

 

Steve exhaled. He glanced down at his open palms, then back up at her. “Thank you. And I’m… still sorry about Bucky.”

 

“Bucky?” Darcy frowned in confusion. “You mean your friend from the 40s? What’s he got to do with anything?”

Steve looked stricken. Before she could push him, however, there was a tapping at the window. 

They both looked around to see Tony and Bruce peeking through the glass. 

“Hey there, Teen Wolf Reject. Are we interrupting the morning after?”    


Darcy lobbed a pillow at the window. “Stark, you can suck my hairy--”

 

“Actually, I was just leaving,” Steve interrupted, turning pink again. He didn’t meet the curious glance Darcy threw in his direction.

The door slid open to admit the two scientists and a couple of med bots, who busied themselves cleaning the bloodstains from the wall and floor. Tony stared, a little distracted, at the rusty smears, before fixing a cocky smirk to his face.

 

“Going furry, Rogers? That’d be kinky even for me.”

 

“Why does everyone keep using that word?” Steve grumbled, wincing as he stretched cramped muscles. He still hadn’t looked at Darcy. “Besides, nothing happened.”

 

Darcy, meanwhile, was trying to bore a hole through Steve’s head with her stare. Too bad her werewolf genes hadn’t given her laser vision, too. “Me ‘going furry’ happened. The good Captain’s virtue is safe, though. More’s the pity.”

 

Darcy was gratified by the sight of Steve’s ears turning a brighter red. She winked suggestively at Bruce, who barely disguised a snicker as a cough.

Tony rolled his eyes. “We’ll despoil you someday, you geriatric virgin. I’ll be counting down the days until Lewis gets her claws in you.”

 

Steve turned, eyes flashing, probably about to defend Darcy’s honor (or something equally ridiculous), before doubling over with a wince.

 

Bruce leveled Rogers with a stern glare, giving him brusque check-up before ushering him outside. Tony gave her an awkward pat on the shoulder before he followed the other two. 

“Rest up, yeah? Space Witch said you’d be tired, so we’ll try to keep out of your hair.”

 

Once Darcy was alone, she laid down on her uninjured side, curling up into a ball.

_ Why did telling the truth make her feel even worse? _

_ \--------- _

 

**_Smithsonian Museum of American History, Washington, D.C._ **

__

The Soldier didn’t recognize the man in the poster. 

He should have. The man had his face.

But he doesn’t remember what it was like to  _ be  _ that man. A phantom pain had him rolling his shoulder and turning away. He pulled the cap down further over his eyes. 

_ Too many people.  _

_ They’re talking about the man on the bridge (Steve Rogers) and his friends (Howling Commandos).  _

That was why he’d braved the crowd. He had to know more about that man. 

_ I knew him.  _

_ Did I?  _

The Soldier kept walking through the exhibit. Little kids wove between the adults, complaining or laughing or tapping away at phone screens. 

_ Too much surveillance. _

It wasn’t safe for him here. The anxiety made his chest so tight it threatened to suffocate him. He pushed his way out of the exhibit, ignoring anyone he might have bumped into on his way to get out. The sun was shining. Heat shouldn’t have bothered the Soldier.

Taking a deep inhale through his nose and blowing it slowly, his heart stuttered in his chest. His flesh hand was sweaty. He couldn’t breathe and he felt like he was about to vomit. He took cover behind a nearby copse of bushes, sliding to sit down, back pressed against the cool cement of the planter box.  _ Out of sight. _

The Soldier pressed his head between his knees and reduced his conscious down to breathing in and out. 

_ “Mrow?” _

He opened his eyes, not realizing he’d closed them. Instead of seeing gray pavement, a white cat was looking up at him. It was small. 

_ “Mrow?” _

The cat raised on its back legs and bumped its head against Bucky’s nose. He was so confused by the new development, the anxiety he’d been feeling had taken a backseat in his mind. 

“....Hello to you, too?” 

The cat started purring, licking at Bucky’s flesh fingers. Looking around, he could see no one was paying attention to him or seemed to be looking for a lost cat. His ill-gotten Jeep was parked on the street in front of the Smithsonian, easy to reach without running into any other people. No one would ever know it was stolen. He’d removed the plates and replaced them to remain undetected. The fake ones were from an old safe house he knew of a few streets away. They’d do. 

_ “Mrow.” _

Bucky looked down at the cat again. It had made itself quite comfortable on the pavement in-between his legs, lazily flicking its tail back and forth. 

Bucky knew he shouldn’t.  _ But I want to. _ He trampled down the niggling of the Winter Soldier in favor of listening to Bucky Barnes for once. Picking up the cat, he stands and made his way to the Jeep. The cat seemed pleased. It started licking at his bearded cheek, purring ever louder. Once in the Jeep, the cat made a home on the dashboard, promptly falling asleep in the beam of sunshine there. 

Bucky gave the cat an odd look before putting the vehicle into gear. He didn’t notice the tiny brown-haired woman watching him from a nearby bus stop as he pulled into D.C. traffic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Show Alpine the Dashboard Cat™ some love in the comments!
> 
> French Trans: tombeur de femmes - lady killer or werewolf


	6. Sheep's Clothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Darcy have gotten to know one another over the last month. Steve does not think much of her enhancements until Natasha comes to him with a disturbing discovery.
> 
> (warning for mild descriptions of gore)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back with another chapter! Thanks for sticking with us!--P
> 
> There's a lot of talking in this one too, ack! We had to move some stuff around, but the plot really gets chugging next chapter :) --Em

**_\---- One month after the fall of SHIELD ----_ **

 

“Hey.”

 

Steve looked up from his sketchpad.

 

“Hey yourself,” he told Natasha, grinning. “Haven’t seen you in a bit.”

 

“We can’t all fast at your bedside, Rogers,” the Black Widow quipped. “Some of us have real jobs.”

 

Steve pretended to be offended. “ _Some_ of us would be back at our real jobs if Dr. Banner would just clear us for field work.”

 

Natasha snorted. “You’re gonna make me go grey, Rogers. Knowing that you’re under house arrest is like taking a vacation.”

 

“Aw, Nat. Didn’t know you cared,” Steve teased. He bookmarked his drawing before setting down the sketchpad. “Now, stop deflecting and tell me what’s wrong.”

 

A little of the light left Natasha’s smile. She slid onto the couch cushions opposite Steve, graceful despite the tension in her shoulders.

Banner had at least allowed Steve to return to his own apartment in the Tower, reasoning that Steve was less likely to break the rules if the danger of his going stir-crazy was minimized. While he was relieved to finally be free of the med bay, keeping himself distracted was becoming nearly impossible. The Winter Soldier and Hydra were still loose in the world. _What was Captain America doing? Sitting on his ass and twiddling his thumbs._

It wasn’t all bad, though. The other resident Avengers dropped in regularly, to play Mario Kart or watch a movie or update him on their individual rotation. Steve had the sneaking suspicion they were on a “Keep Cap Happy” rotation. He itched to do _anything_ —yet as Sam had pleasantly pointed out, he needed a rest.

(Sam had said something more along the lines of: “You’ve got a death wish the size of the Washington Monument and the ego to back it up. You’re gonna sit that patriotic punk ass down and _heal_ , _rest_ , and _recharge_ before you destroy yourself emotionally _and_ physically.”)

See? Sitting on his ass. Twiddling his thumbs. Definitely not awash in anxiety over the state of the world without him.

(“World doesn’t need you to save it every time it gets stuck in a bind, Rogers. Gotta leave some work for the other professionals.”)

Which….was fair.

Darcy dropped by most days. She brought family pictures and knitted while he sketched, merrily regaling him with tales of Cohen and Dernier’s life long friendship, and various family exploits. There were certain topics she skirted around unless he prompted her, but Steve enjoyed the respectful sensitivity. He’d danced around outright asking her about werewolf business (despite his burning curiosity), until she yelled at him to stop “treating my furry little problem like I’m riding the crimson wave, Cap. No reason to keep it all under wraps anymore, so just ask, dammit.” Steve had asked if he could draw her in wolf form, and she’d rolled her eyes, shuffled off to the bathroom, and emerged with claws clicking against his tile floor. When he’d made a few rudimentary sketches, she transformed back to launch into a tirade about werewolf misrepresentation in the media.

She had no filter when she got going. It was _amazing_ —reminding him almost of Beckah Barnes, who could talk a mile a minute if you let her. Darcy was willing to just talk; about anything and everything.

There was also the small matter of her not being on the schedule set up by his teammates—as evidenced by the time she’d walked in on Clint trying to teach him how to stack a house of cards and announced she was going to use his kitchen to make pumpkin bread. Clint had tried to object… until Darcy had bribed him with the promise of snickerdoodle cookies in exchange for his cooperation. They’d all ended up covered in cinnamon and flour. For once, Steve had felt as close to the present at the moment as he could, when Bucky was still…

 

Natasha cleared her throat pointedly.

 

“Sorry,” Steve winced. He rubbed his charcoal-smeared fingers together, watching the black spread. “Zoned out for a sec. Been spending too much time as a couch potato.”

 

Natasha raised an eyebrow.

 

It was Steve’s turn to awkwardly clear his throat. “Any leads?”

 

“Nothing on the Winter Soldier thus far. He’s gone completely off the grid. Avoiding security cameras, no paper trail, blending any theft he commits with the local run-of-the-mill crime.” Natasha lifted one shoulder, the only real sign of her frustration. “He doesn’t want to be found, Steve. I’ll keep looking if I can, but—”

 

“No,” Steve said smoothly, ignoring the pit in his stomach. “If he isn’t an active threat, Hydra takes precedence. We need to uncover as much as we can before they have a chance to regroup.”

 

Natasha nodded. Then she hesitated again. It was so unlike her, the little twitches of insecurity, that alarm bells started to ring in Steve’s head. He slipped out of the Cap persona. She was here as Natasha, more than the Black Widow or Agent Romanoff.

 

“Hey,” his voice dropped. “I’m sorry I got us sidetracked. What’s wrong, Nat?”

 

“I’ve already done some uncovering,” she started, a half-smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. It was the expression she wore when trying to throw a mark off, trying to make her cockiness seem like a front for vulnerability. All of it a lie.

 

“That doesn’t work on me,” Steve reminded her. Their friendship was still tenuous outside work. He watched as she struggled to shrug off the mask, revealing a kind of pensive anxiety he’d never seen before.

 

Natasha’s gaze flickered around the room, as though looking for a good distraction or evidence of eavesdropping. Her eyes lighted on his sketchbook.

 

“Steve, what are you drawing?” The change in her tone was so abrupt, Steve’s defense mechanisms snapped up before he could even think about it.

 

“Stop deflecting—”

 

But Natasha held out her hand, mouth set in a firm line. After a moment’s hesitation, he handed her the sketchbook. Natasha’s eyes subtly widened, then narrowed. Snarling up from the page, Wolf-Darcy bared her teeth at Natasha; all sharp charcoal lines and impressionistic smudges rippling into the wolf’s tense, bristling shoulders, her body coiled as though ready to spring. Beside it was a 3/4 sketch of Darcy herself, her mischievous grin in complete antithesis to the ferocity of the wolf.

 

“She told you.”

 

“You didn’t expect her to.” _Why not?_ Steve could see the way Natasha slipped into analyzation. Her expression grew carefully blank as she processed. “What does this have to do with your intel?”

 

Natasha pulled a file from her messenger bag. With a creeping sense of dread, Steve examined the photo paperclipped the edge of the folder Natasha slid into his lap. He knew the image—Darcy had shown him a near-identical image just last week, part of a family scrapbook.

Dernier and Izzy, both around 70, were sitting on a park bench together. Each man had a child on his knee. Steve allowed himself a few seconds to enjoy toddler-Darcy’s spaghetti-sauce-smeared face (clearly from the bowl Izzy was trying to feed her), and her older brother Luke’s look of childish curiosity as he pawed at his sister. The photo had been taken from a distance, not like the close-up candids Darcy had shown him. _Part of a recon mission? Were they under surveillance?_ He glanced up at Natasha.

 

“Turn it over,” she said.

 

On the back, someone had dated the image above four scribbles.

 

_Operative: Isadore Cohen_

_Operative: Jacques Dernier (L)_

_Subject: Lukas James Dernier (L-unconfirmed)_

_Subject: Darcy Isadore Dernier (L-unconfirmed)_

 

“So Hydra was keeping tabs on the Howlies,” Steve observed, watching Natasha for a reaction. _This must have been before they moved._ Darcy had only mentioned Hydra twice in relation to her family. Steve surmised that _something_ had happened to make Izzy and Dernier decide to go undercover, but had been unsure whether or not to press the subject. He regretted that. “Darcy implied as much.”

 

Natasha’s expression went flatly neutral. “Did I miss something besides the art sessions?”

 

_Calculating face,_ Steve thought to himself, unsettled. “She comes around every couple of days. We talk about Izzy and Dernier, things SHIELD kept off the books. We’re...friends, I think. I walked in on her…transformed, and it all came out from there.”

 

“How much do you know about the ‘werewolf’ thing, Steve?”

 

He shrugged. “She answers all my questions. If she’s lying, I can’t tell.” _Do you have reason to think she would?_ “What does this have to do with the Hydra files?”

 

Natasha tapped her fingers restlessly against his coffee table. “When I was in the Red Room, there was a group of scientists obsessed with the Super-Soldier Serum,” she began. “Except they weren’t interested in just recreating Erskine’s formula. They wanted to push the boundaries, see what other ‘enhancements’ they could create, and used operatives as test subjects. The version I got is called the Kudrin serum. It all but froze my aging process and increases my physiological resilience at the cellular level.”

Steve listened silently. Natasha was never exactly forthcoming about the details of her past. This was the longest he’d ever heard her talk about the Red Room.

“There were other serums. Some worked. Some...went the way you’d expect a sci-fi horror flick to go. But there was one version they were always determined to perfect. I deserted before they managed to find a way to keep the subjects from killing each other or burning their bodies out. In action, they were forces of nature. Inhuman and merciless.” Natasha’s shoulders tightened visibly. It was obviously something she didn’t want to talk about. Her grey-green eyes slid back to Steve’s. “They called them the Lycan Division.”

 

_Lycan...as in, “wolf.”_ Steve’s mind kicked into overdrive. He stared down at the photo.

 

“Hydra gained control of them in the late 80s,” Natasha added carefully. “After which the program’s efficacy skyrocketed. I found these photos in a facility we cleared out last week.”

 

Steve lifted his head. “You think Darcy is a sleeper. That Dernier might have been a Hydra convert, or unwittingly coerced into helping the Lycan Division.”

 

He must not have controlled his anger as well as he thought, because Natasha drew back a little. “What do you really know about their family, Steve? Beyond what she’s told you?”

 

“That’s—” Steve wanted to defend Darcy. To tell Natasha that the geeky ex-lab-assistant wasn’t a traitor or a threat. But overlooking traitors and threats was exactly what had brought down SHIELD. _Dernier and Izzy would never..._ and yet, he’d only known them for a few years in the middle of a war zone. _People change._ “Why wouldn’t she have turned when the other Hydra agents did?” He said instead. “Is there evidence of a legitimate connection to Project Lycan, beyond surveillance from 30 years ago? Can she even fight?”

Natasha’s eyes widened with real surprise. “You don’t know what happened at the Tower after Hydra?

“There were sleepers in the labs and lower floors,” Steve said slowly. “Tony told me. Everyone defended themselves--”

 

Natasha handed him another photo.

 

For half a second, Steve felt a visceral roll and churn of his gut as he stared down at the image.

 

“Nat.” His voice was ice. “What is this?”

 

There was no grainy obscurity to blunt the horror of the photos. Natasha must have pulled them straight from the Tower’s HD camera feeds.

 

“What she did to the traitors in the lab. What’s left of them, anyway.”

 

Two men lay on the floor. At least, he thought there were two of them. It was hard to tell, for all the shredded ribbons of pink and red across the carpet. One of the men was relatively intact. He lay on the ground, arms and legs spread almost casually. Only, a gaping crimson chasm yawned open where his throat should have been. The second body… Steve stared at the photo for almost a minute before he managed to piece everything...together.

 

“One sleeper was a lab assistant to Dr. Foster for almost a year. Ryan Wilcox. Lewis called him ‘Intern #2.’” She indicated the mostly intact corpse. “We think he and the second agent were assigned to kidnap Foster. Obviously, Lewis was disinclined to assist them.”

 

Steve worked his jaw. “How.”

 

Natasha struggled. “The other sleeper had covered as a SHIELD physicist who wanted to collaborate with Foster. They were heading to the common room for coffee and a break. The Triskelion shows up on the news, Wilcox pulls a gun, other agent drops his cover. The cameras picked up a burst of something not unlike an EMP coming from Foster—what we now know to be her ‘magic’—which took out the feed for around eight minutes. This is what shows up when the feed goes live again.”

 

Dr. Foster was many things; brilliant, quirky, distracted, and passionately independent. But this level of violence…

He’d known violent people all his life. Neither bubbly Darcy nor frenetic Jane struck him as inclined to tear a man in half.

_But Bucky (the old Bucky, charming and gritty and cheerily geeky all at once) never once seemed anything less than the perfect young man in front of teachers, preachers, and dames. They’d never seen what he did to that other dock worker, the one who held Steve underwater until he nearly drowned when he found them._ A snap of bone and a man’s garbled scream echoed through the years _._

_No. No one would ever have seen Bucky as merciless if he didn’t want them to._

 

“Of course,” Natasha said, lightly, once more breaking Steve from his reverie. “This obviously doesn’t indicate complicity with the Lycans—quite the opposite. But she should be considered a potential threat, Steve.”

He nodded jerkily, mind running through a hundred ways Darcy could be conning him, a thousand ways their conversations could have held a second meaning. When Natasha returned his sketchbook (along with the mission file), he accidentally smeared an extra streak of charcoal across the open page with his smudged fingers. Darcy’s human features were blurred by the streak. The ferocity of her wolf, however, remained untouched. As Steve stared down at the animal’s bared fangs, he felt a shiver of real fear.

Any wild creature could be considered a potential threat, of course. But...

_A threat to whom?_

 

\--------

 

Darcy’s stomach rumbled something fierce. She’d been hungrier than usual lately (on account of transforming more often in the last three weeks than she had in the last three years), and it had increased her body demanding to be _fed_. Grumbling and rolling onto her left side, she caught sight of the digital clock on the bedside table.

 

_2:00 AM_.

 

She groaned. _At least the midnight cravings operate on a schedule._ Sitting up, she ran a rough hand through her hair before getting out of bed. Sleep wouldn’t come unless she satisfied the hunger. Her enhanced vision made it easy to pick her way across the messy bedroom, though she did trip over her own feet with the sudden change from complete dark to the bright fluorescent light of the hallway. Enhanced vision could go kick rocks for all she cared at the moment. Her attitude was definitely less than cordial due to unsatisfied hunger. Hopefully, none of the super-secret boy band needed late night glasses of water. They weren’t ready for the full extent of her appetite. Even Jane still preferred not to be around when the raw beef was pulled from the freezer to thaw for consumption. The lights in the kitchen and communal living room are off, which struck Darcy as slightly odd. Why would JARVIS keep the hallway lights functioning but shut off the other ones like normal? Too hungry to dip further into that particular think tank, she flipped the kitchen light on. Another rumbling noise emitted from her midsection and Darcy poked at it in an attempt to shut it up.  
  
“You’ll get your food,” she groused, voice rough with disuse and exhaustion.

 

Jerking open the fridge door, Darcy leaned in to grab the tray of raw chicken breast with an obnoxiously orange sticky note attached to the plastic wrap that caught her eye.  
  
_For a midnight snack, dear. - Pepper Potts_

 

Smiling despite her bad mood, she removed the sticky note and stuck it to her sleep shirt, shutting the fridge door with her foot as she turns away. Placing the chicken next to the stove, she began rummaging for a skillet in one of the cupboards, trying not to be too loud.

 

_Don’t want my late-night cravings to startle the super-powered people I live with._

 

“Aha!” she whisper-shouted, carefully pulling out a medium-sized skillet. Humming under her breath while she headed back to the fridge to retrieve a sauce for her chicken ( _definitely feeling teriyaki_ ), she felt slightly better. Her mood brightened when the delicious smell of stir fry filled the kitchen.

 

Darcy was so preoccupied with the cheery crackle-pop of the cooking chicken (and reminding her Puppy Senses that it was impolite to drool), she didn’t notice the spider until she turned around.

 

“Jesus!” Darcy squawked, just barely managing to not spill her plate of teriyaki chicken and veggies.

 

_Werewolf Stereotype #4: Werewolves are mindless, carnivorous beasties._

_Werewolf Fun Fact #6: Humans are omnivores. Werewolves are humans who sometimes become furries*.  Also, not eating fruit and veggies means scurvy, idiots. Scurvy sucks._

 

_*No, no one was ever gonna let Steve live that one down._

 

“Sorry,” Natasha, aka the Black Widow, aka someone who should have a bell attached to her at all times because THAT WAS SCARY, said pleasantly. Ms. Sneaky-Spooder lounged at the breakfast bar, legs folded neatly beneath her. Darcy took a moment to appreciate her T-shirt (abbreviations from the periodic table spelling out ‘Chocolate’).

 

The thing about living with spies was that one was invariably snuck up on at the most inopportune times. Clint had once tapped Tony on the shoulder and nearly gotten a face-full of hydrochloric acid. Darcy usually avoided these scenarios by way of her enhanced senses—but Natasha only ever smelled faintly of human musk, and was quiet as a cat. And Darcy was tired.

_“Too many excuses, Puppy,”_ Grand-mère Helene‘s voice reminded her. _“Did you steal my cookies or not?”_

 

Darcy wasn’t looking to steal anyone’s cookies, but she would have to be more vigilant in the near future. Operation Clue Spoilers pretty much depended on it. When she decided to activate it, anyways.

 

“Teriyaki?” Darcy offered the Black Widow, who raised one perfect eyebrow.

 

Natasha shook her head. “I was just going to make some tea. Didn’t want to disturb you in the middle of cooking.”

 

“Um. Ok. You’re free to disturb away, though. You’re welcome to some chicken, too….unless you’re allergic or something...”

 

_Stop babbling!_

 

Every word felt awkward. Darcy hadn’t had a proper conversation with Natasha since the big confession. She’d always liked Natasha (if a constant state of mild terror mixed with woman-crush admiration could be counted as “liking”) someone; the aforementioned secret had always created some distance between them, though. Now, Darcy felt strangely naked under Natasha’s piercing gaze.

Darcy didn’t mind being naked—in either a sexual or nonsexual context (insert eyebrow wiggle here)—Natasha was just being extra intense.

 

“Something wrong?” Natasha asked as Darcy’s fork paused in mid-air.

 

“Of course not? Why would anything be wrong?” Darcy hated how nervous she sounded. Still, she didn’t really know why. What did she have to fear from Natasha?

_Maybe you’re right to be afraid. She_ is _the Black Widow._

You made your point, Puppy Senses, thanks.

 

“Anything wrong with you, Nat?” Darcy tried. “You seem...tired?”

 

Subtly, Darcy noticed Natasha’s pulse change. Like everything the Widow did, it was quieter than most people.

 

Natasha shook her head. “Nothing much. I’m a little worried about Steve. You know how he is, always running off headfirst into danger.”

 

Darcy laughed, a little too loudly. “Can’t say I do. Well, my grandpas told me stories, but he was their commanding officer, right? So he kinda got to...wiggle out of consequences.”

 

_Babbling, again._

 

But Natasha seemed interested. “You were close with your grandparents?”

 

_Ok, babble away._ “Oh, yeah. I mean, Grandpa Izzy taught me to take apart a motorcycle when I was ten. Grand-père Jacques made sure I could build working explosives in middle school... Grand-mère Helene taught me to cook...I got lots from my parents too, of course, and like, school. Obviously, the explosives and motorcycle anatomy were more important,” she tried for humor.

 

Natasha did crack a grin at that. “Did they tell you any other Steve stories?”

 

“Oh, loads!” _That’s it, Darcy, Captain America stories are safe ground. Maybe you can figure out what she really wants._ “I know that he used to pickpocket the brass who would pick fights with the Howlies. And he started a lot of fights too-- like, over discrimination and stuff, dumb old white guys who didn’t want Japanese- or African-Americans in a special unit. One time he almost got a dishonorable discharge. They used to call him a ‘punk’--apparently, that’s what James Barnes nicknamed him. You know, the one who...fell.”

Darcy winced. Her grandpas were always a little touchy about Barnes. He was the only member they lost during the war itself, and the tragedy of his death had ruined them all. Especially Steve, if stories were to be believed.

That wasn’t her secret to tell Natasha, though.

“They tried to look for him, you know, with Howard Stark. They were torn up Steve had sacrificed himself. For diving off into danger without worrying about those left behind.” Darcy’s appetite was starting to wane. She set down her fork completely, watching Natasha carefully. She’d shifted slightly when Darcy spoke of Barnes, then still at the mention of Steve’s sacrifice. _What was going on?_ “I guess I do know.” Darcy tacked on, meekly.

 

Natasha reached out, laying a gentle hand on Darcy’s shoulder.

 

“I’m sorry I made it awkward,” Natasha said, sounding remorseful.

 

“No!” Darcy said immediately. “No, it’s fine. I’m just...really not used to talking about my family at all?”

 

“Understandable,” Natasha leaned back, something sad playing about her mouth. “I’m happy to listen if you need an ear.”

 

Darcy wasn’t expecting this. She’d been so busy getting to know Steve and navigating her return to work—a task made more difficult by the constant state of anxiety (whether for her health or because of her revelation) she seemed to induce in anyone nearby—she hadn't had much time to really _talk_. Sure, she'd answered every question all Avengers & Co. members had thrown her way; no amount of honesty had lowered the tension created by the Big Reveal. Tony seemed unsure whether to fuss over or resent her when she returned to the lab. Bruce only ever asked the occasional Science! question before trying to give her 'space.' Sam...she hadn't known Sam  _before_ , so there wasn't much to compare it to. They were cordial, if nothing else.

(Clint treated her the same, once he'd returned to the Tower and received the Big Reveal Update. Well, he made more wolf jokes than she could shake her tail at, _but whatever, Hawkguy._ She'd get him back with a prank or two.

And her relationship with Steve had improved exponentially, so that was a star-spangled win.)

Darcy had basically resigned herself to redoubling her work with Pepper on protections for supernaturals, and training with Thor (he was back! Jane was happy! they were nasty together! Darcy could finally spar in furry form in the Tower's main gym!), until the weirdness blew over. Darcy was used to dealing with weird. Just not helping other people with it.

Now that she though about it, Natasha was the only member of the Super-Power-Boy-Band she hadn't had a chance to talk one-on-one with. Which might account for her unnatural stillness... “Well, what do you want to know?”

 

“Oh, anything. I can’t usually go back to sleep once I’m up, and I’m always on the hunt for information.”

 

They shared a smile.

 

“I’ll make you that tea? And we can talk in the meantime.” _And maybe...I can find out what you're really here for._

 

“Perfect.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments keep our crops watered and skin clear.


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